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MARY 

STARKWEATHER 

3 •> T- 


COROLIN CRAWFORD WILLIAMSON 

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THE 

Hbbcy press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

Condon NEW YORK montreal 




The library of 

CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

NOV. 16 1901 

CorVRIOHT ENTRV 

Km,’. /'T -/ ‘f Of 

CLASS Qy XXc. No. 

7. / uf- 

COPY B. 

Copyright, 1901, 
by 

THE 


Hbbcy press 


DEDICATED 


TO MY 

MOST DUTIFUL AND BELOVED SON, 

ERNEST CRAWFORD. 


I 




i 


For the Lord God is a Sun and Shield ; the Lord will give 
grace and glory ; no good thing shall he withhold from them that 
walk uprightly . — Psalm 84: ii. 






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A Cooversation with the Author 


Mary Starkweather is a novel, pure and simple Numer- 
ous subjects are dealt with, chiefly among which is what 
is known as the New Thought or Higher Thought. 

In the following conversation which the publishers had 
with the author, she gives the primary reason for writing 
the novel. We believe the reader will follow the conver- 
sation with interest. 

The author has been most studious to avoid discussion, 
and has shown throughout her book a scrupulous regard 
for other people's beliefs and feelings. There is a decided 
absence of acrimony, with only a desire to awaken thought 
on the various subjects she puts forth. 

Publisher. — Will you not tell us, Mrs. Williamson, 
how you came to evolve your novel, Mary Starkweather? 

Author. — It was the outcome of experience, observor 
tion, and serious investigation, extending over a period of 
several years, in which I gained positive knowledge of the 
power of the mind to cure mental and physical ills. 

Publisher. — Were you an easy convert to this new 
belief? 

Author. — No, I was not; I was born a skeptic, and al- 
though a member of the Episcopal church, I think I was 
really an agnostic. The creed of the Church always stuck 
in my throat. My skepticism militated against me, in this 
new study, and for a long time I was continually flounder- 
ing in shoals and quick sands. But I believe in ocular 
demonstration, and having had such demonstration, I be- 
came thoroughly convinced of the supreme power 
of the mind. After this conviction came upon me I felt 
like a volcano — a very small volcano, it is true, but still a 
volcano, whose fires were welling below, longing to break 
forth, and give to others ivhat I felt I had received. 


A Conversation with the Author. 


I believe more in simple statements and demonstrations, 
than in elaborate arguments. I tried to think of some 
simple method that would go out and become an awakener; 
a forerunner ; a sort of John the Baptist, as it were. At 
first it occurred to me that there is no better way to reach 
the attention^ and to set people thinking, and eventually 
inculcate in them a deeper study, than through the medium 
of the stage. With this thought in mind I wrote the 
society drama, "'Truth/* which was produced at the Park 
Theatre, Boston. The newspapers were so generous in 
their praise, and I received so many letters from different 
people telling me of the benefit the play had been to them 
that I felt inspired to write a novel on the same lines. 
This I have done, including in it the principal characters 
and incidents of the drama "Truth/* adding to this my 
beliefs in maternity; finally incorporating into the story a 
philanthropic project, that had simmered in my brain for 
years. 

Publisher. — It required a good deal of courage, did it 
not, to launch this kind of a play before the public, and 
then follow it with this novel? 

Author. — Yes; but when I undertook to write the book 
I knew I was qualified in one particular — a love of my 
subject — I have positive knowledge as to the power of the 
mind, in the matter of maternity, and of the efficacy of 
my philanthropic scheme; but qualified in positive knowl- 
edge of the great Hereafter, I was not. Therefore I make 
no attempt to instruct others in this mystery. So far as 
my observation goes I think all the ablest and most learned 
students can honestly say in regard to a future state is, 
"I believe/* and belief is not knowledge. 

I am a firm believer in scientific demonstration, and in 
the unknown being made known; and I believe the mystery 
of life and death will one day be scientifically demonstrated 
and solved. 

do you call this mental thought 
"Divine Science**? Do you not think it sacrilege? 

Author. — Our most skilful physicians frankly confess 
they have found no cure for a mind diseased. In this 
science of the Mind a cure has been found. I feel there 


A Conversation with the Author. 


is no sacrilege in calling it a *^Divine Science/' since it 
came through the mind and intellect, and the mind and 
intellect are gifts from God; therefore a Divine gift. A 
perfectly healthy mind rarely, if ever, inhabits a diseased 
body. Health and ease throw off dis-ease. They are as 
opposite as the poles; they cannot exist together. 

Publisher. — Then you think disease may eventtially be 
overcome f 

Author. — I do. 

Publisher. — Do you think death may be overcome? 

Author. — I do not know. Personally I do not care for 
simple longevity — I care for usefulness and activity. 
When these cease it is time to go. But I think birth and 
death should be alike painless. When the time for dissolu- 
tion comes we should simply be able to draw our drapery 
about tis, and take our departure. 

Publisher. — Have you changed your religious views 
since coming into this new thought ? 

Author. — Yes, I think I have. In the past I don't 
think I had much religion; now I think I have a good 
deal. I believe in the teachings of Christ. I believe re- 
ligion is that Love that has understanding, that penetrates 
the innermost parts of the heart and soul of the suffering, 
and understands and comforts and relieves. This I think 
is true religion, no matter where you find it, in Gentile, or 
Jew, Buddhist or Confucian. 

I do not believe in creeds or sects. It has been my inr 
tention that this book should stand for universal Brother- 
hood, irrespective of sect or creed. If it is not so under- 
stood, then its mission is lost. 





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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER L 

PACK 

Hugh Starkweather of Mabelthorp Manor House ii 

CHAPTER II. 

Mary Starkweather 29 

CHAPTER HI. 

The Repulse of Sidney Banks 45 

CHAPTER IV. 

Sidney Plans to Ruin the Starkweathers 57 

CHAPTER V. 

Sidney Is Foiled Again 66 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Homecoming of Charles Thornton 87 

CHAPTER VH. 

The General Tells Charles of the Mortgage 105 

CHAPTER VHI. 

A Strange Marriage 112 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Triumvirate 145 

CHAPTER X. 

Willow Springs 150 

CHAPTER XL 

Harry Burbank Avows His Love 164 

CHAPTER XH. 

The Reunion of Old Friends 175 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Awakening of Mr. Burton 189 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Chatter of Carl and Gertrude 206 

CHAPTER XV. 

A Demonstration of Truth 215 


Contents. 


CHAPTER XVL 

PAGE 

Mrs. Tremaine Spurns Sidney Banks 241 

CHAPTER XVH. 

Doctor Cline 254 

CHAPTER XVHL 

Bethesda Sanatorium and Cottage Place 268 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Society Is Shocked 274 

CHAPTER XX. 

Bethesda 298 

CHAPTER XXL 

Puzzling Questions of Carl and Gertrude 309 

CHAPTER XXH. 

The Service in the Temple 334 

CHAPTER XXHI. 

She Will Dc What Her Hands Find to Do 346 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Mrs. Burton 350 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Mary Tries to Awaken Dick 356 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Colonel Brandt’s Family 361 

CHAPTER XXVH. 

Mental Telepathy 374 

CHAPTER XXVHI. 

Dick, Donald and Bennie Visit the Tenement District 396 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A Visit to Goluckie 402 

CHAPTER XXX. 

A Visit to Bennie’s Land 412 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

On Board the ‘'White Pigeon” 427 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Newport 440 

CHAPTER XXXHI. 

Thoughtless Chatter of Society Women 457 


Contents. ix 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

PAGE 

Mis-spent Energies 472 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Last Speech of the Political Campaign 480 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

The Opening of the Social Season 483 

CHAPTER XXXVIL 

The Meeting of Philanthropists 494 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Newspaper Criticism 510 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Dick Shows His Mettle 522 

CHAPTER XL. 

Edith Learns Her Mistake 536 

CHAPTER XLI. 

Dick Is Made Happy 551 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Seeds by the Wayside 560 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

The Anniversary 569 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

Again Is Sidney Banks Foiled 582 

CHAPTER XLV. 

Suicide 600 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

Wedding Bells 602 







MARY 


MARY STARKWEATHER 


CHAPTER L 

HUGH STAEKWEATHER OE MABELTHORP MANOR-HOUSE. 

Ear to the north and to the south, along the banks of 
the Delaware, stretched an estate that had been princely 
in extent in the old Colonial days. On a high hill that 
commanded a sweeping view of the valley, stood the 
lordly old manor-house that was huge in its proportions, 
and had been built at enormous cost by Hugh Stark- 
weather, a man of ample means and good taste; one of 
the very few to bring great wealth to this country in the 
early days. He belonged to one of the old English fami- 
lies, that, though not noble in the literal sense of the word, 
are yet so ancient and so connected by faithful service with 
the rise and progress of their country, that they could 
justly be comprised among the aristocracy of the land. 

Hugh Starkweather had married, in defiance of his 
connection with the Established Church of England, a 
maiden of Puritan birth. Consequently he had collected 
his wealth, and had cast in his lot for weal or for woe with 
many other venturesome souls determined to find a home 


12 


Mary Starkweather. 

in this new world beyond the sea, and thus escape perse- 
cution. And here, with nothing to pollute the primitive 
loveliness, where songs of birds filled the wilderness, and 
pearly waters rippled to the sea, they had planted their 
home. 

Mabelthorp was much like the old gentry places in Eng- 
land. The house was two stories high, surmounted by an 
observatory. Two great wings stretched out on either side, 
and a broad veranda extended across the front, its roof 
supported by massive Corinthian columns, which, together 
with its snow-white walls gleaming among the gigantic 
trees, its long French windows and green shutters, made 
it singularly picturesque. It was one of the few homes 
that had come safely through the perils of the Eevolution. 

The Starkweathers were a brave and determined race; 
and when the War for Independence had broken out, their 
swords had been unsheathed and laid upon the altar of 
Freedom. The house had been attacked, and almost by 
miracles had been saved from the flames several times. 
The perilous experiences that had been encountered were 
heirlooms in the family. Many of the great elms, oaks, 
and maple-trees had histories that had been handed down 
from the time of their planting. In the days of the Eev- 
olution, many a half-starved, ragged, footsore regiment of 
soldiers had bivouacked under them, and many a prayerful 
congregation had gathered beneath their green boughs. 
Many were the perilous journeys undertaken through dark 
woods and over rough roads to reach Mabelthorp, and 
many a man had ridden with a lighter heart when the 
walls of the old manor-house rose before him, and he saw 
the lights gleaming from the windows. It was an asylum, 
a place of safety, during those long days of the Eevolu- 
tion ; and many a beacon fire had been lighted on the hill to 
guide the wanderer to where his tired frame could rest. 


Hugh Starkweather of Mabelthorp. 13 

Had there been bestowed half the blessings and benedic- 
tions that were showered on Mabelthorp and its surround- 
ings, the place would have seemed like hallowed ground. 
It had been an unwritten law of the Starkweathers that 
DO one with prayer or plaint should be turned unrelieved 
from their doors. It would seem that the text, ‘^Freely 
ye have received, freely give,” in their case was verified; 
for they always had an abundance. 

Mabelthorp had been a regular rendezvous for states- 
nen and diplomats. Washington, Lafayette, Adams, 
Hamilton, Jefferson, Clay, and that ^^embryo C^sar,” Burr 
— ^^the man of many gifts” — Monroe, ^^the last cocked hat,” 
IS he was called — all these and many more had been par- 
ikers of Mabelthorp’s generous, open-hearted hospitality, 
id at home there. 

What names are these to conjure with ! What memories 
mst come trooping at the sound of them! There was 
irdly a phase of interest connected with the welfare of 
lis country that had not been discussed beneath these 
Id trees or in this house. How many projects had been 
atched here, how many campaigns planned, by these men 
s they smoked with Indian gravity and deep concern in 
^mes of peril, or laughed when happier times had been 
7oked. 

Cruel wars had come and gone. The strife for prin- 
iple had ended. But those most devastating, fatal mala- 
'ies, more fatal many times than war — ^the turbulent pas- 
Lons, the heart-burning jealousies, treachery and dishonor 
hat fill the fierce conflicts — ^these had never entered this 
•ome. To come within its walls was to find rest, refresh- 
aent, and peace. 

Two things had been made historical by the original 
lugh Starkweather and his wife : First, the religious keep- 
ig of a diary, to be written in once a year at least. The 


14 


Mary Starkweather. 

most important events connected with Mabelthorp were 
chronicled, to be handed down from generation to genera- 
tion. Second, the planting of trees to commemorate im- 
portant events or the visits of great personages to Mabel- 
thorp. The trees can easily be seen with their little bronze 
plates, like bits of old armor, on which are recorded names 
and histories. But the diary is most sacredly and safely 
kept under lock and key. And favored indeed is the in- 
dividual who can obtain a glimpse of it. To the histo- 
rian it would be worth its weight in gold; for therein 
events are recorded of much that transpired during our 
wars, which have never become public property. 

During the first days in this country, important occur- 
rences were scarce; and there was not much to record be- 
yond the impressions of one who had found great peace 
in this new land after the strife and turmoil of Eng- 
land. A few extracts that cover a period of the first 
twelve years that he lived in America, will serve to show 
what kind of a man this first Hugh Starkweather was, A 
letter written by his wife to a friend of her girlhood in 
England, that either was never sent, or had served as a 
copy for a more elaborate letter, there being many erasures 
and corrections — is most carefully preserved by the de- 
scendants, and is reproduced here only as a very great 
favor. 

Extracts from the Diary of Hugh Starkweather. 

April, 1740 A.D. 

We bade adieu to England, not without misgivings and 
many tears, as we had many attachments and friendships 
to sever; and at the last moment the repeated expressions 
of affection from loved ones we were leaving behind, the 


Hugh Starkweather of Mabelthorp. 15 

benedictions and prayers for choice blessings to come to 
us all, fell with great feeling upon our appreciative hearts. 
These friends are separated from us by leagues of land and 
sea, but we can never forget that farewell scene and the 
tender good-byes. It is a pleasure to think of them 
now 


May, 1741. 

. . . . It is wonderful how soon one becomes at- 
tached to a place — even in the wilderness. Nothing could 
induce us to give up our wildwood home with its blooming 
flowers and its kingly trees. All is silent here. Pe'ace 
reigns. The stream that kisses the banks at the foot of 
the hill on which our home is perched, has not heard the 
contending of nations waging war for power, nor the deaf- 
ening thunder and conflict of mighty hosts in battle until 
the earth trembles from the shock. The dusky inhabitants 
have left nature here unchanged. One is thrilled with the 
enchantment and beauty of it. What an asylum for rest ! 
This is the place of green pastures, where one can lie 
down by the side of still waters. Repose — 0, the music 
of that word! Here in this garden of nature one finds 
that rest and peace that the world cannot give 

July, 1744. 

How I thank God who has guided my weary feet to this 
refuge ! What is birth or rank in a world where the 
flowers of love and peace reign and bloom in the 
heart ? 

In this new home the face of my dear wife is always 
radiant with smiles. Often at nightfall, when the heavens 
are star-studded, and holy silence seems to wrap the earth. 


1 6 Mary Starkweather. 

does she come out to me, and as she lays her hand in mine 
and nestles her beautiful head on my bosom, I stoop and 
kiss her brow. Standing thus, soul to soul, in this vast 
solitude, we hold communion with the winged spirits of 
this ideal world and feel we have passed from clouds to 
sunshine, and are already in the abode of immortal bliss, 
for here where His handiwork stands forth in lone sub- 
limity we feel we are in the very presence of God Him- 
self. 

I pray that I may be enabled to make here a home ; such 
an one that those coming after me, shall rise up and call me 
blessed and sing a requiem over my dust. Man’s faith in 
God grows strong here. It is a place to purify the soul. 
Heaven seems very near at times. Living here in this 
majestic forest, with these tree-kings in whose branches the 
winds find harp-cords and organ-notes to respond to the 
chorus of birds that pour forth their melodies, time speeds 
swiftly. We are absorbed in the sweet task of planting 
our home in this wildwood. It seems almost a crime and 
a desecration to disturb Dame Nature who has held here 
undisputed sway for so long a time. The woods are filled 
with humble, yet beautiful and fragrant wild-flowers. One 
cannot live here without catching the spirit of beauty and 
peace, and the spirit of calm and adoration for all things 
high and holy and sublime in nature and in humanity. 
The very soul becomes illumined here 

June 1st, 1752. 

. . . After many delays our new home is completed 

and furnished, and to-morrow we step from our humble 
cottage to our elegant mansion. Eejoicing summers and 
winters have swiftly sped into the great eternity of time 
since we founded our home here, and there is much pleasure 


Hugh Starkweather of Mabelthorp. 17 

in the anticipation of a more commodious mansion and 
more comforts. Yet, at this moment, we feel a solemn 
thought at leaving the walls and roof-tree where our chil- 
dren were bom, and where we have been so happy. Under 
its humble roof my darling Mabel and I have garnered 
many of nature’s most precious jewels. It was here the 
passing breeze, murmuring low, seemed a language sim- 
ple and sweet, breathing upon us a prayer or benediction. 
Ah, it has been a very sweet time and of most precious 
remembrance ! And we hope to have much joy in our 
splendid new home; but it never can give us more happi- 
ness than we have found in this humble cottage that we 
now turn over to our servants. But we have duties to 
perform and dignities to uphold, and we must look to 
them 

How much we have to thank God for! Our barns are 
bursting with plenty, our fields are waving in luxuriance, 
and our fruit-trees are laden with blossoms. Our tenants 
seem happy. 0, it’s surely a time of rejoicing and thanks 
giving. Health abounds. Our children find so much life 
here. They are always leaping, bounding, and shouting. 
My wife is now very strong, and grows more beautiful 
and blooming every day. We give our wildwood home her 
maiden name — Mabel Thorp. 

% Mabel Starkweathek’s Letter. 

October 10th, 1752. 

^'My dear Catherine : From Hugh’s letters to Charles 
since leaving old England, thou knowest how we have 
fared these twelve years in this new land. But thou 
sayest thy wish is to have me write thee minutely of our- 
selves. 


1 8 Mary Starkweather. 

seems but a day since then and now. Hugh tell- 
eth the man^s side of our life; but it^s the wee things that 
interest us women. Dost think thou wilt like to hear how 
busy we\e been? I am sure thou wilt, and to know also 
that there is no reason or desire to be sad and dumpish 
here. We have a large family, now, to mind and tend. 
Three blessed babies has God given us. 

‘‘^Besides J ohn and Hannah, the two servants we brought 
with us from old England, we have six blacks. Aunt Lissa, 
as we call her, and her husband, Joe, and her son. Bride, 
eighteen years old ; and her daughter. Gassy, who is sixteen 
and mindeth the children. Hannah is now my house- 
keeper. John helpeth Hugh to look after the tenants. 
Aunt Lissa is the cook, Bride planteth and mindeth the 
garden, and Joe driveth our coach, and Patty and Milly 
mindeth the wash. 

“The country is quite free, and I expect we’ve grown 
a bit wild through living in it; but it’s lovely all the 
same, much because of the freedom. Except when we 
journey to the big cities, which happeneth not often, 
we don’t mind here the dress. The simplest frocks 
answer our purpose. My hair hath no cushion nor 
powder, but flows most free. And when it’^ all loose and 
falls down from the comb, half in curl and half out and 
not tidy at all, then Hugh pats my head and says it is 
wild like our country, and as beautiful, because it is just 
as God made it. How men flatter ! but ’tis sweet to have 
him say it. And then, goose that I be, I climb upon his 
knee, and then we sit silent and think. And he kisses me 
and tells me I am his world, and I tell him he is mine. 
Ah, it’s awesome sweet to love so much and to be so loved. 
I mind me how our minister said ’twas weakness and a 
sin to love so much, and sometimes I have a fearsome feel- 


Hugh Starkweather of Mablethorp. 19 

ing. But Hugh saith if God is Love, then we cannot 
love too much; and my Hugh is very wise and good. 

“We are so happy in this delightsome home. The music 
in the trees is, at times, most pathetic and entrancing 
sweet. Sometimes it^s soft like a lute. I mind me when 
our little Hugh was born, how I lay in my bed, and listened 
and thought the wind angels were singing a lullaby to him. 
0, when he was born, it was a fearsome time! I must 
tell you of it. I felt it was a time of peril with no phy- 
sician in attendance, and I was greatly agitated and feared 
1 might die. Dear Hugh had prayed constantly that I 
might be safely delivered ; but when the last moment came 
I was in a panic. And when Aunt Lissa, bless her black 
soul, saw me crying, she just took me up in her arms and 
put me to bed, and said: 

“ ‘Laws, honey ! you^se all right. HonT yuh worrit the 
leas’ bit. If yuh fret and cry like that, yuh’ll be mighty 
fev’rish an’ ’bad. Yuh jes’ trus’ t’ Lissa. She'll bring 
yuh frou’. I’ll make yuh a dish o’ ’yarb tea an’ mix yuh 
a good drink o’ hot sperits.’ And she coddled and patted 
me in the blithesomest and cheeringest way. 

“‘Yuh see, chile, you’se bin a runnin’ an’ a racin’, an’ 
had de fresh win’ t’ breave, an’ you’se bin happy, an’ it’s 
made yuh well an’ strong. So you’se got nothin’ t’ feah. 
Ef I cud jes’ take it on myself, chile, Lissy ’ud be glad t’ 
do it; but I carn’t. But I kin help yuh an’ nuss yuh. 
Yuh mus’ be strong fur Marse Hugh’s sake. He mos’ 
scar’d f def now — pale ez a sheet, wif great big tears a-run- 
nin’ down his face. He out dar a-sobbin’ so, mos’ like his 
heart break all ter smash. Yuh jes’ be strong fur a little 
while, honey, an’ trus’ t’ Lissy an’ de good Lawd, who 
will give yuh strength, an’ not lay mo’ on yuh than you’se 
able t’ b’ar.’ 

“Dear Hugh, who left England for me, whose life had 


20 Mary Starkweather. 

been given in love and tenderness for me ! I knew in the 
willingest way he would bear my pain, if he could. And 
wilt believe it? These thoughts helped me marvelously; 
and thereupon I grew strong. I remembered as Lissa said, 
I had been living near to God and nature. I was full 
of life, and though it was a truly awesome time, I just 
laid myself on the dear Lord’s breast and waited His will. 
And very soon it was over. 

^^And when Lissa laid the little one in Hugh’s arms, 
he wept for joy and thanked God aloud. Ah! those were 
sweet days that followed for both of us. Hugh was more 
tender than ever, and I, think of it, Catherine dear, was 
I not the mother of a boy? 

‘^Two blessed babies, William and Elizabeth, have come 
to share our home since then; and all is well. We have 
no fear of sickness. The little medicine-chest is rarely 
opened, and we never have had any physicians except 
our good Aunt Lissa. 

^^At last we are in our new mansion. It stands on a high 
hill, and the view is so mighty and God-like — more so in 
storm than in sunshine. When I look at the beautiful 
scenery, I most forget to breathe, and near die from pure 
joy. My dear Hugh sheds tears at the beauty of it. 

‘^To get the house in order, and tidy, was an amazing 
lot of work ; but it was a delightsome task. We were quite 
happy in the cottage whose furnishings, at first, would 
have puzzled thy brain to fancy. But we now have the 
loveliest and best, of which I must tell thee. First, a lovely 
new spinet on which it’s a pleasure to play. Our furni- 
ture and carpets, from France, are most rich; and so are 
our pictures and mirrors from Venice. We can see our 
whole length in the mirrors; their gold frames are of 
most handsome design. But the curtains, 0, Catherine, 
are gorgeous, as are the lamps with their pendants and 


21 


Hugh Starkweather of Mablethorp. 

crystals to make the house brilliant. We brought much 
glass and plate from England ; but we have had more sent, 
and an abundance of linen and stuffs. 

“When we got these all placed in the fine house, every 
one said it was an elegant spectacle. We have a beautiful 
coach sent over from France. It is stuffed, and lined with 
red leather. We have grand horses to draw it, and Hugh 
has also a fine English charger, a beauty, to ride. 

“If s a monstrous distinction to have such a smart place, 
and much deference is shown us on account of our money 
and plenty. But Hugh mindeth it not, and is never stiff 
with the people, or his tenants, who like him and pay when 
they can. 

“We now have week-day, religious, and other assemblies 
in the town of Clinton that now joins our land on the 
west. The people are not gawkish, as thou wouldst 
imagine, but very brave, kind, and honest, with much in- 
telligence, though mostly poor. We are friendly with all, 
and give a dish of tea and a good bite to all who visit us. 
Hugh helpeth much those that are needy, and if s a won- 
der he never is cheated, for he can never say nay. 

“Hugh thought we must have a house-party to mark 
our time of removing. So he sent many invitations to 
friends in the big cities and colonies about, asking the 
favor and honor of the company of themselves and their 
ladies for a grand ball on the fifteenth of June. Even 
from the rich to the poorest, nigh all accepted. For Hugh 
mindeth not the raiment, religion, or creed; his only 
thought when he bids folk to his house is, ^Are they 
good ? 

“Then came a time of commotion. More help was em- 
ployed, and it was a season of much stewing and bak- 
ing and brewing. Hannah and Lissa were happy, but 
much in a fiutter to get ready for so large an assembly. 


22 Mary Starkweather. 

The guests were bid to the house for the evening and the 
great ball; but those that could were to remain as much 
longer as their convenience would let them. Hugh hoped 
it would be days ere all would depart. He wanted to make 
it a time of rejoicing and splendor. Hugh is a bit proud, 
manlike, of his fine Madeira and spirits. He ordered an 
abundance of lemons and fine sugar : and all in the house 
was commotion. Even the babies caught the infection, 
and demanded to know what their robing would be, much 
to the delight of dear Hugh, who humors and spoils them 
beyond reason. As for me, when I asked Hugh what my 
attire should be for the ball, what thinkest thou his reply 
to me was? ‘Wear the dress in which thou wert wed.’ 

“From the big English chest I had taken my brocades 
and velvets, and had minded me not of anything so sim- 
ple. The dress, it was fine and neat, but not at all grand, 
as I daresay thou rememberest, just a soft, white thing 
from India. I wanted to please Hugh, and it may have 
been sin, but I wished for something more rich and 
more modish. I wished much to wear some of the fine 
jewels so long put away, not the simple white frock, which 
was fit for a maid, but not me. For I am a matron, and 
mother of three babies. But, after all, it was dear Hugh 
that I wished most to please. So I took the white thing 
and freshed it up a bit, and just coiled my hair enough to 
be tidy, and stuck a pink rose in it, down near the neck, 
and when I was robed I came down to Hugh, looking really 
quite plain and feeling once more like a real Puritan. But 
he kissed me and took from the casket that belonged to 
his mother, an elegant necklace of pearls, which he clasped 
on my neck, and said I looked sweet — me, the mother of 
three babies ! 

“0, Catherine dear, it would take me weeks to tell thee 
the splendors of this beautiful time. Torches and Ian- 


Hugh Starkweather of Mabelthorp. 23 

terns were hung in the trees, and everything made gay 
ill the house, with thousands of flowers and sweet smelling 
shrubs. And the people began to arrive ; some in coaches, 
some in chairs and some on high-stepping chargers. And 
0, the beautiful frocks in which the ladies were appareled ! 
The brocades, stiff as boards, and the velvets and laces; 
the powder and patches and cushions and jewels. Thou 
couldst not believe it without the seeing. They were mostly 
persons of great dignity. Many officers, and men of great 
titles; one priest, two bishops, and a rabbi so wise; all 
gorgeously dressed in their best. For thou must know 
Hugh standeth high in this country, and the people yearn 
to him, much on account of his good sense and judgment. 
This night' he looked handsome and fine in his white 
satin small-clothes and red velvet coat, with his hair pow- 
dered and tied in a queue. I really was quite frightened 
at meeting so many grand folk. But Hugh pressed my 
hand and said I was the sweetest of all. Dear Hugh ! 

'Tt was a time of much eating and drinking and smok- 
ing, with music and dancing and playing of games; for 
Hugh minded him much of the plain folk, and those who 
for the dance did not care. Swings were under the big 
trees placed, that there might be entertainment suitable 
for all. 

^^Many young gentlemen were bid, and Hugh said I 
must pay uncommon attention to these and step a dance 
with each that they might not so much mind their not hav- 
ing ladies of their own. And it was much pleasure to do 
as he bid me, and 0, Catherine ! I most felt I was young 
again. The wild life and the not lacing so tight give one 
breath for the dance, and, in the pleasures of it, I forgot 
the rose in my hair and the simple white dress, and felt 
I was floating away on the air. Fancy me forgetting I 
was the mother of three babies! 


24 


Mary Starkweather. 

^^But the last dance of all was most stately and grand, 
and we formed on the floor in order like this : First, My 
Lady Fairfax, in purple velvet and lace, honored young 
Master Adams, of Boston. Next, fair Mary Blaisdell, 
whose dress was satin, but white like my own, honored 
Captain Ben Goldthwaite. Then his sister Elizabeth, with 
eyes like twin stars, honored my own handsome Hugh. 
And 'last, but not least, young Master Washington hon- 
ored me. 0, that was a dance to remember! It was so 
flne that they drew to see us all eyes. And young Master 
Cheever, the poet, from Boston, who watched it most 
closely, said Twas just like a song. It was stately and 
slow, and the curtsies all so enchantingly low. The for- 
ward and back and the pass to the left, the hand-to-hand 
clasp and the toe-to-toe step were all neatly done. And 
this ended the ball, for daylight had come. 

“I much fear thou art weary ; but the end of this letter 
draweth nigh. 

^^Many remained over, among whom were the two bishops. 
Father McCune, Lord and Lady Fairfax, with their two 
young friends. Master Jefferson and Master Washington 
(from the Colony of Virginia they came, both likely young 
men), and young Master Adams, and young Master 
Cheever, the poet. 

‘^And now, what thinkest thou we occupied ourselves 
with the last day? I will tell thee. It was this: We 
planted many little trees to commemorate the great oc- 
casion, our guests aiding at the task with many laughs and 
bright sayings; for the young lads were amazing for wit. 
It was good and mirthsome to see the young men and 
girls, who had made such a grand display at the dance, 
now down on their knees, assisting. Even the bishop and 
Father McCune took a hand, all helping together. 

^^This fancy we always shall keep, as Tis an evergreen 


Hugh Starkweather of Mabelthorp. 25 

■vvay to remember. And these little trees may, in time, 
take the place of those now standing, and provide tree- 
kings and wind-harps for our children and those that 
come after. Dear Hugh gives a pledge to attach little 
bronze plates to each tree with the name of the person 
or event ’tis meant to keep in remembrance. Thinkest 
thou not, Catherine dear, ^tis a cunning conceit to keep 
in repair our old woods? 

^^At last the end of my letter has come, though of the 
grand time not half of the beauties Tve told; nor how 
the dear babies enjoyed the rejoicing, and chattered, and 
were kissed, complimented, and petted. Hor have I told 
thee how handsome and fat and rosy they are. Think, 
Catherine dear, they never are ill. They know neither 
syrup nor powder. Indeed, Tis quite marvelous. Our 
glorious health is due, I feel sure, to the air that we breathe 
and the absence of fear. You know that the Good Book 
saith that fear is torment (and torment must be sickness 
and suffering) ; and it also saith that perfect love caste th 
out fear. Then the reason is clear why we never have 
pain; for our love is so great and so perfect, there is no 
room for fear. Couldst thou see the babies and me and 
dear Hugh, thou wouldst then be convinced; for when 
all the grand company had said good-bye, and gone, Hugh 
gathered us close, and kissing us all, said : 

Ht’s been a gladsome time, love, for thee and the 
babies and me; and I enjoyed it, and love all my friends. 
But nothing could take the place of thee and our three 
babies.'’ 

'^ith such love thou must know I am happy. May 
you and dear Charles have as much cause to rejoice. 

^^With love from us all, and God’s benediction, believe 
me. Your friend. 


Mabel. 


26 


Mary Starkweather. 

‘T. S. — 0, Catherine dear, I forgot most to say that 
v/e are to have our portraits drawn — Hugh, the three babies, 
and me, all in a group, by a lovely great painter in Boston. 
Master Adams has made for us the arrangements, and we 
are all to go there for that purpose. Won’t it be fine? 

‘^At first it was intended that it should only be myself. 
But since the ball, Hugh says 1 was so sprightly, he must 
have the children and himself drawn, too, to hang in our 
home to remind me that I am a wife, and the mother of 
three babies. Hugh is such a quiz ! 

^^Mabel.’’ 

Such a man was Hugh Starkweather, a man of unques- 
tionable piety, taste, and culture. But above and beyond 
all, and most to be prized, was his sound, practical sense, 
the more to be valued from its uncommon rarity in those 
days. This fact is more to be gleaned from the letter 
written by his wife than from anything written by him- 
self. 

To this great soul, who, in those early days, could gather 
beneath his roof in harmonious assemblages, Protestant 
and Komanist, Jew* and Gentile, lord and peasant; whose 
heart and hand responded in charity to the suffering, what 
torture it must have been to him to have lived in Eng- 
land during those turbulent times, with the narrow so- 
cial and religious creeds and prejudices and the utter 
disregard of personal rights of life and property. What 
an asylum this land must have been, which, with his lux- 
uriant appreciation of life, became to him a perpetual 
Kyrie Eleison. Here, where Nature with unremitting ar- 
dor had given birth to an infinity of life, the soul of this 
grand man became truly inspired as it wandered from 
link to link in the great chain of creation, until it became 
merged into the very essence of the Power Supreme, and 


Hugh Starkweather of Mabelthorp. 27 

so attuned, that the low-rushing of the wind was a sym- 
phony. This silent meditation with Nature, in all her 
genial and subduing aspects, seems to have imparted to 
him the gentleness, truth, simplicity, and calmness that 
ever await upon her teachings. The great solitude, the 
fierce tempest. Nature in her gladness and smiles, the deep 
slumber of her woodlands, the twilight hues to this man 
were most profound, and his reference to them is most 
touching. 

Second only to him in sublimity of soul and apprecia- 
tion of the beautiful, was his wife Mabel. Her simplic- 
ity and purity are so transparent in her letter, that no 
comment is needed. 

How rarely in life do we see such perfect communion 
of souls; such an affinity of tastes. Ah! those two lives 
so blended, that could so interpret the language of Na- 
ture, that could so love the stars and skies and flowers and 
forests, who could possess those quickening principles that 
could bring them in contact, heart to heart, with Na- 
ture’s throbbings, were endowed with gifts more lovely 
and of more lasting benefit to themselves and to their 
descendants than ever would be the most eloquent sermon, 
or teachirlgs, that could fall from the lips of man. 

Christ knew the benefit of the wilderness. He left the 
multitude, and went into the mountain or desert where 
He spent hours and days in prayer. In that great silence, 
in that nearness to the Father, He had time for thought. 
He became at rest. He became at one with the Infinite. 

From this silent communion. He returned to His peo- 
ple, refreshed and strengthened, and sat among them and 
taught them the divine attributes of Universal Brother- 
hood. 

With their receptive souls, Hugh Starkweather and his 
wife, living here in this vast solitude, attained that soul- 


30 


Mary Starkweather. 

Trixey put down her watering-pot, and the two stood, for 
a minute, sobbing like children. Then, Malcolm, dash- 
ing away the tears, said disconsolately: 

‘^Well, if s no use. Things have got on their last legs. 
Only to think! Mabelthorp must go. I canT realize 
it.^^ 

^^Neither can 1 ,’ said Trixey, ^^and I can’t keep the tears 
from coming when I think about it. But I know Miss Mary 
would say it’s weakness for both of us to be standing here 
blubbering like two blessed idiots.” 

“Well, I don’t care,” replied Malcolm, half savagely. 
“It’s enough to make a mule weep, and I’m nearly as 
tough as a mule. Just think 

But what he thought he did not utter; for at this mo- 
ment there rose on the still air the low sweet voice of a 
woman singing, outside the house, down further on the 
lawn. She was concealed from view by the shrubbery. 
The voice was thrilling and tender. It was only a little, 
simple air, just such as comes to one, at times, when out 
in God’s sunshine, with the great dome of heaven’s blue 
above; when the heart is full of joy or sorrow, and must 
have some outlet. Such was the song that now floated 
to the ears of the two servants, who stood breathlessly 
listening as if they had never heard the voice before. 
Then, Malcolm, drawing a long breath, said disparag- 
ingly : 

“Well, I’ll be gol darned! If that ain’t Miss Mary 
singing. She’s down in the rose garden. She beats the 
very deuce. One would think she didn’t know that this 
is the last day in dear old Mabelthorp.” 

Trixey stood listening for a moment. Then, with a 
look on her face, as if the very sound of the voice had done 
her good, she replied : 

“Well, 1 couldn’t sing. I know that much. And I 


31 


Mary Starkweather. 

could almost be angry with her, if I wasn’t sure, that way 
down in the bottom of her heart, she is as miserable as any 
of us: and that she’s just singing to keep back the tears 
and to keep up her father’s spirits. The poor old general 
is so down-hearted!” 

^^Well, I reckon that’s true. Still I’ll be doggoned if I 
can see how she can do it. She goes along just as if noth- 
ing was the matter.” 

There was silence for a few minutes. Trixey again 
had taken her watering-pot and was continuing her work. 
Malcolm stood leaning against the trunk of a tree, 
thoughtfully digging his heel into the ground, as if he 
would dig up some relief to his overcharged feelings. 
Presently, Trixey came over to where he stood, and hold- 
ing the watering-pot in both hands, and swinging it care- 
lessly to and fro, in front of her, asked: 

^^Did you know that master had a friend to see him 
this morning?” 

Malcolm looked at her inquiringly. 

‘^No; who was it?” 

“Miss Mary said he was a great big preacher from New 
York City, and that he and her father used to be boys 
together. Do you know who he is?” 

“Well, you’re smart! I should say I do. And you 
ought to know, too !” exclaimed Malcolm. “It’s Dr. Mal- 
ridge.” 

“I thought he lived in Brooklyn?” 

“Well, ain’t Brooklyn in New York City, smarty? And 
he is the biggest preacher in the whole world. He and 
Colonel Eversoll and master were boys together at school 
and college, and afterwards were in the army together. 
I tell you, I think that they are the three greatest men 
that ever lived.” 

And so they were to Malcolm’s partial eyes. His mas- 


30 


Mary Starkweather. 

Trixey put down her watering-pot, and the two stood, for 
a minute, sobbing like children. Then, Malcolm, dash- 
ing away the tears, said disconsolately: 

‘^^Well, iTs no use. Things have got on their last legs. 
Only to think! Mabelthorp must go. I canT realize 
it.” 

^‘Neither can I,” said Trixey, ^^and I can’t keep the tears 
from coming when I think about it. But I know Miss Mary 
’would say it’s weakness for both of us to be standing here 
blubbering like two blessed idiots.” 

“Well, I don’t care,” replied Malcolm, half savagely. 
“It’s enough to make a mule weep, and I’m nearly as 
tough as a mule. Just think 

But what he thought he did not utter; for at this mo- 
ment there rose on the still air the low sweet voice of a 
woman singing, outside the house, down further on the 
lawn. She was concealed from view by the shrubbery. 
The voice was thrilling and tender. It was only a little, 
simple air, just such as comes to one, at times, when out 
in God’s sunshine, with the great dome of heaven’s blue 
above; when the heart is full of joy or sorrow, and must 
have some outlet. Such was the song that now floated 
to the ears of the two servants, who stood breathlessly 
listening as if they had never heard the voice before. 
Then, Malcolm, drawing a long breath, said disparag- 
ingly: 

“Well, I’ll be gol darned! If that ain’t Miss Mary 
singing. She’s down in the rose garden. She beats the 
very deuce. One would think she didn’t know that this 
is the last day in dear old Mabelthorp.” 

Trixey stood listening for a moment. Then, with a 
look on her face, as if the very sound of the voice had done 
her good, she replied : 

“Well, 1 couldn’t sing. I know that much. And I 


Mary Starkweather. 31 

could almost be angry with her, if I wasn^t sure, that way 
down in the bottom of her heart, she is as miserable as any 
of us: and that she^s just singing to keep back the tears 
and to keep up her father’s spirits. The poor old general 
is so down-hearted!” 

“Well, I reckon that’s true. Still I’ll be doggoned if I 
can see how she can do it. She goes along just as if noth- 
ing was the matter.” 

There was silence for a few minutes. Trixey again 
had taken her watering-pot and was continuing her work. 
Malcolm stood leaning against the trunk of a tree, 
thoughtfully digging his heel into the ground, as if he 
would dig up some relief to his overcharged feelings. 
Presently, Trixey came over to where he stood, and hold- 
ing the watering-pot in both hands, and swinging it care- 
lessly to and fro, in front of her, asked: 

“Did you know that master had a friend to see him 
this morning?” 

Malcolm looked at her inquiringly. 

“No; who was it?” 

“Miss Mary said he was a great big preacher from New 
York City, and that he and her father used to be boys 
together. Do you know who he is?” 

“Well, you’re smart ! I should say I do. And you 
ought to know, too !” exclaimed Malcolm. “It’s Dr. Mal- 
ridge.” 

“I thought he lived in Brooklyn?” 

“Well, ain’t Brooklyn in New York City, smarty? And 
he is the biggest preacher in the whole world. He and 
Colonel Eversoll and master were boys together at school 
and college, and afterwards were in the army together. 
I tell you, I think that they are the three greatest men 
that ever lived.” 

And so they were to Malcolm’s partial eyes. His mas- 


32 Mary Starkweather. 

ter, to him, was the embodiment of all that was elegant and 
great ; and the two gentlemen just mentioned, ranked next, 
in his opinion. Suddenly the thought came to him that 
there might be some significance in this visit at this par- 
ticular time, and it was with anxiety that he asked the 
next question: 

“I wonder if he knows about master’s troubles ?” 

‘^1 think not,” said Trixey, shaking her head. ^‘1 heard 
him say he couldn’t but just make a short call, and mas- 
ter looked so relieved. But Miss Mary was just the same 
as ever, and begged him to stay longer.” 

The look of hope on Malcolm’s face died away. Finally 
he said: ^^That girl is a puzzle to me.” 

^^Why?” queried Trixey, setting down her watering- 
pot. 

^‘Because I just can’t, for the life of me, make her 
out lately,” said Malcolm disconsolately. ^‘^You remember 
what a little fiery thing she used to be?” 

^^Don’t I, though,” laughed Trixey. ^^No one knows it 
better than I.” 

“I remember, once,” went on Malcolm, ^Vhen Prince 
shied and threw her in the grass, she was so angry that 
she made me bring him to her ; and with her own hand she 
held him by the bit and gave him a complete dressing down. 
Then she throwed the whip to one side, and said to me: 
^There! I guess he will know who is master after this. 
He will never fiing me off again.’ And he never did,” 
laughed Malcolm. ''My ! didn’t her eyes flash ! and a red 
spot came in each cheek. I’ll never forget how she held 
him. You wouldn’t think those little white hands could 
do it; but they were strong as steel. How that whip 
whizzed through the air ! I can hear it now. I can re- 
member when she wanted to do a thing, how she would just 
set her little teeth together and clench those little hands 


33 


Mary Starkweather. 

of hers, and do it. Xo fooling with her!’’ And for the 
moment, both forgot their grief, and laughed merrily at 
the recollection of some of the mad pranks of their young 
mistress. 

‘‘Yes!” exclaimed Trixey, recovering herself, “that rid- 
ing whip of hers was worse than a gun. Do you re- 
member the time she struck Sidney Banks in the face with 
it?” 

“Well, rather,” said Malcolm. “I don’t think it could 
have been done better.” Then with a look of contempt on 
his face, he added : “But he got just what he deserved. The 
idea of his thinking she would ever marry him, just be- 
cause he’s got a handsome face, and a lot of money. No 
matter what happens, a Starkweather would never have to 
stoop to such as he is.” 

“Well, I should think not,” replied Trixey, with a lofty 
manner, and a sniff in the air. 

It would be impossible to describe the tone of the two 
servants as they spoke of Sidney Banks in connection with 
their young mistress, the supreme contempt with which 
they treated his aspirations. No princess could have had 
more adoring subjects. 

“But Miss Mary,” said Malcolm, returning to the dis- 
cussion of his young mistress, “she used to be so fond of 
fishing. You remember how she used to scream with de- 
light when she got a ‘bite,’ and frighten all the fish away? 
And how she used to go out with us to set the traps to 
catch the birds and rabbits?” 

“I guess I do,” replied Trixey. “She could beat Mas- 
ter Hugh, shooting. I’ve seen her pop many a squirrel at 
twenty paces ; and she’d take a hedge with any rider in the 
country.” 

“Well, now, you couldn’t get her to allow us to trap 
an3rthing ; and as for popping a squirrel or striking Prince 


34 


Mary Starkweather. 

— well, I declare ! One day she brought him some sugar, 
and I heard her saying all kinds of nonsensical and silly 
things to him. And she put her arms around his neck 
and rubbed her cheek up against his face, and I actually 
heard her tell that horse she w^as sorry for the trouncing 
she gave him. She talked to him just as if he could un- 
derstand, and to tell the truth, he really acted as if he 
did. And you’d ’a’ died if you’d seen that silly old horse. 
He stamped his feet and switched his tail and whinnied 
and pranced, and rubbed his nose on her neck and shoul- 
der, and I swear, he purty near laughed. I believe, in my 
soul. Miss Mary kissed him. Ah !” said Malcolm, shaking 
his head, ^^she’s changed very much lately.” 

^^Well, Malcolm,” retorted Trixey, tossing her head and 
speaking with a tinge of indignation in her voice, ‘^any- 
body hearing you talk, would think Miss Mary had been 
a cross old thing all her life instead of the sweetest and 
dearest of little mistresses all her life.” Saying which, 
Trixey took up her watering-pot and started to enter the 
house. Malcolm followed her up, and detaining her, said : 

^^Oh, I suppose you can’t remember when she used to 
box your ears ?” 

I !” laughed Trixey, all her momentary vexation 
gone, for she well knew that no one loved her young mis- 
tress more than Malcolm with his stout Scotch heart. 
^^But I also remember that she was like most other young 
ladies, and if she did act up awful, sometimes, it was be- 
cause she was so young and inexperienced. I never saw her 
do a mean trick in my life, and neither did you, and you 
ought to remember how she came up here wild on this 
old place. I think she was mighty good. There was no 
one to tell her she shouldn’t do anything. You know her 
old nurse indulged her in everything. I wonder there was 
any living with her. Yon know, after her mother died. 


35 


Mary Starkweather. 

the general and Master Hugh couldn’t never see nothing 
wrong in Miss Mary. They always thought everything 
she done was awful smart and cute. But you know, with it 
all, she has always been loving and kind. The only dif- 
ference I see in her is that she is now a grown woman. 
You couldn’t expect her to act like a child ten years old 
all her life, could you?” 

^‘No,” said Malcolm, heaving a deep sigh. ^^All you say 
is true enough, and yet, I claim she has changed 3 lore 
than just growing up into a woman. Ever since sh re- 
turned from Boston, last year, she’s been different.” 

^^Well, what is it?” asked Trixey. 

‘T can’t hardly tell myself,” said Malcolm, now speaking 
in a lower voice; ^^but sometimes I’ve almost thought she 
was losing her head. One day she came down into the 
garden, and she went among the plants and vegetables, 
and she handled them ’most as if she thought they were 
alive; and when I was going to kill a great big tomatc- 
worm, she said: ^Oh, don’t kill it! Let’s put it up here 
on this fence, and tell it to go away and feed on something 
else.’ And she broke off the leaf, and put it on the fence, 
and said: ^There! little worm, we want the tomatoes. 
You must find something else for your lunch.’ Then she 
laughed, as the worm raised himself up, and struck out his 
head and tried to wiggle his horns. And she said: Toor 
little thing, you have a right to live ! We won’t kill you.’ 
And directly, he settled himself back on the leaf, and she 
left him. Then she said : Tt seems cruel to kill anything. 

I don’t think we have a right to do it.’ Some birds fiew 
away as we came up where they were, and she said : ^Now 
look at those birds. How afraid they are of us. We ought 
to live so that every bird and animal would come to us 
when v/e call them. If we were not so cruel they would 
do so. I hope, Malcolm, you won’t kill anything you’re 


36 Mary Starkweather. 

not obliged to. There are countries where they don’t kill 
anything, not even a worm. JSTow, if other people can get 
along without killing things, we ought to be able to do 
it.’ 

^‘After she had gone to the house, I went back to kill 
that tomato-worm. But he was gone. I knew he wasn’t far 
away, and I began looking for him, and at last I found 
him. Where do you think he was?” asked Malcolm; and 
without waiting for a reply, he went on: ^^He was climb- 
ing up a mullein-stalk. Now who ever heard of a tomato- 
worm on a mullein-stalk ? I raised the stick to knock him 
off, and he raised his head and stuck out his horns at me, 
and wiggled, and to save my life, I couldn’t kill him. I 
remembered what she said when she told him to find a 
lunch some place else. So I just shook my fist at him, 
and told him if I caught him on the tomato-vines again, 
he was a goner. Then I went off and left him; and, I 
tell you, I think it’s real craziness. Heaven is the only 
country where they don’t kill things. But the worst of 
it is, she makes you silly by such talk. I can’t kill the 
things I ought to since that. Even when I see a worm on 
the vegetables, I find myself saying: ‘Oh, well, you can’t 
eat very much. I guess there’ll be enough left for us.’ 
Of course I don’t say it right slap out ; but I say it inside 
of me. I can’t pick up a stone and fling it at the birds 
and chickens like I used to. I keep hearing her say, 
‘How cruel!’ Now, all this makes a man a darned fool. 
It’s bad enough for her to be like that ; but I don’t want to 
catch it.” 

Trixey laughed and said: “What an old goose you are, 
Malcolm. You know you’re a regular softy, yourself, and 
you would lay all the blame on Miss Mary.” Trixey looked 
off in the direction of the singer who was evidently draw- 
ing nearer, and then in a voice that was full of anxiety 


Mary Starkweather. 37 

and trouble, said inquiringly: ^^What in the world are 
they going to do now?’’ 

^^The good Lord only knows,” replied Malcolm, despair- 
ingly, as they stood watching the singer as she emerged 
from the shrubbery. 

The young girl, softly singing, who now came into 
view on the broad driveway, was tall, lithe and willowy. 
She was dressed in some soft, clinging, white material. 
On her left arm she carried a mass of gorgeous roses and 
other blossoms. Her right hand grasped her skirts, lift- 
ing them from two perfectly formed feet shod in dainty 
slippers. She was the embodiment of grace as she moved 
up the drive. Her step was firm, in it there was neither 
haste nor languor. Her hair, which was loosely caught 
up and coiled on her neck, was that rare and peculiar 
shade of brown that takes on different tints from the 
varied lights that fall upon it — sometimes gold, sometimes 
copper, and again, almost black. A large wide-brimmed, 
leghorn hat, from which clover-blossoms drooped, shaded 
her face, that, with its ever-changing color and great, 
soulful, blue eyes, shone like an opal. Sweet as the mur- 
muring of a brook, the little tune fell on the air as she 
neared the spot where the two servants awaited her. 
Looking up and beholding them, her face lit up, and with 
a radiant smile that parted her lips, disclosing teeth even 
and white as pearls, and in a voice that was low, sweet, 
and musical as the tinkle of bells, she exclaimed banter- 
ingly : 

"Ah, Malcolm, is that you and Trixey loitering here? 
Don’t you think you are both a bit idle this morning?” 

"Oh, Miss Mary!” exclaimed Malcolm disconsolately, 
with tears welling up in his great, honest, brown eyes, 
"I haven’t the heart for work this morning.” 


38 


Mary Starkweather. 

^^Neither have I/’ said Trixey, again calling into nse 
the comer of her apron. 

^^Oh, come, come, come!” replied Mary in a cheery 
voice, ^^this will never do. Suppose that papa and I were 
to sit down, and mope and cry. Do you think it would 
do any good? Would it pay the mortgage on this dear 
old home ? or make it any brighter ? What dreadful recol- 
lections I would have of my last day in the dear old place. 
See! I have been gathering flowers, as usual, this morn- 
ing. Aren’t they beautiful ?” she exclaimed, holding them 
up. Then, going to a rustic table, she threw them down 
and said: ^^Trixey, bring the vases here, and help me 
arrange them.” 

^^Yes, Miss Mary,” said Trixey, apparently inspired by 
the voice of her mistress, as she hurried into the house 
for the desired articles. 

Mary then turned to Malcolm, who was trying to wink 
the tears out of his eyes, evidently being ashamed of his 
weakness, and said in a firm, yet kind and considerate voice, 
a voice that did not have to command to be obeyed: 

^^Go now, Malcolm, and attend to your work, and see 
that you do it better than usual.” 

^T’ll do it, Miss Mary,” said Malcolm with forced cheer- 
fulness in his tones. ^‘1 know it’s the last day ; but I’ll 
shed no more tears, and I’ll do everything just as you 
would have it done.” And in a second he was out of sight, 
around the corner of the house. 

^Toor dear Malcolm and Trixey !” mused Mary, '^What 
faithful followers. God knows I feel my trouble as much 
on their account as on my own. They, as well as I, have 
known no other home than this.” 

‘^^Here are the vases, Miss Mary,” said Trixey, coming 
from the house and placing them on the table by which 
Mary was standing. 


39 


Mary Starkweather. 

^^There, Trixey, see how fresh and lovely they are,” said 
Mary, putting the blossoms in the vase, with loving hands. 
Then, placing her hand under a large rose that drooped 
heavily to one side, she said in a playful tone ; ‘‘There ! 
hold up your head, dearie.” 

“You talk to the flowers as if you thought they under- 
stood you,” said Trixey. 

“Perhaps they do,” replied Mary. Then, holding up 
a handful of pansies with long stems, and gazing at them 
lovingly, she said, with much feeling: “See these lovely 
Puritan pansies. It seems to me that they look at me, 
this morning, with more than usual meaning in their 
eyes. And these glorious roses !” she exclaimed, burying 
her face among the delicious blossoms that were exhaling 
a fragrance rich and warm as the soul of a woman. “I 
know their perfume is more sweet to me than ever before. 
There ! take them in, Trixey, and see that the entire house 
is put in perfect order.” 

“Yes, Miss Mary,” cheerfully replied Trixey, going 
toward the house with the flowers. “Pll do everything just 
as you say.” 

Mary picked up her hat that she had thrown aside, and 
was about to follow Trixey, when, casting her eyes down 
the driveway, she saw a woman rapidly approaching. She 
carried a little babe in her arms, and apparently was ex- 
cited, and glanced nervously about her. As she neared 
the house, Mary recognized her as a woman who had been 
living in the neighborhood for a short time, and one whom 
she had befriended. She went forward to meet her, offer- 
ing her hand in greeting, and said in a welcoming tone 
of voice: 

“Ah, good morning, Mrs. Multon, I am glad to see 
you.” 

But the hand she took was cold and trembling. There 


40 


Mary Starkweather. 

\yas no reply. She seemed quite overcome by the cordial 
hand-clasp and evident tenderness of this charming girl. 
She was dressed in black, and she was a pathetic figure as 
she stood there. Her lips were set, unable to utter a word. 
Her great mournful, eyes were tearless, and, as she hugged 
the little mortal of humanity to her breast, she swayed 
and trembled like a willow in a blast. Mary, seeing her 
agitation, said in a voice that thrilled this friendless wo- 
man with its tender sympathy and solicitude: 

^^Why, what is the matter? You are nervous, trem- 
bling. What is it? Come and sit down.^^ And putting 
her arm about the woman^s waist, she led her to a rustic 
seat, and placing her in it, took the babe that was sleep- 
ing, and gently laid it in a hammock, swung in the shade 
of a large tree. Then returning to Mrs. Multon, she sat 
down beside her, and, for a moment, there was silence. 
Then, with a low cry, Mrs. Multon covered her face with 
her hands and sobbed as if her heart would break. It 
seemed, in this paroxysm, as if the tension had been so 
strained, the heart so stricken that it must snap asunder. 

Mary wisely was silent, only pressing the little, limp 
hand in sympathy. Finally, after an heroic effort, Mrs. 
Multon controlled herself sufficiently to say, between her 
sobs: 

^^Oh, Miss Starkweather, I am in such trouble!” 

^^There, there, be calm,” said Mary soothingly. ^^Tell 
me. Perhaps I can aid you.” 

^^Oh, Miss Starkweather! I — I had no place to go. 
They are going to tear down the cottage where I have been 
living.” 

^Tear down the cottage !” Mary exclaimed in a surprised 
voice. 

^^Yes. Mr. Banks has been to see about it several times 
of late. This morning, he came and said that they would 


Mary Starkweather. 41' 

begin to-day. The lady with whom I have been staying 

went to a friend, but I — I Again the little woman 

was shaken with sobs. 

^^But you — you had no place to go, so you came to me,” 
said Mary in a gentle voice, and with a reassuring pres- 
sure of the hand. 

‘^Oh, Miss Starkweather, you have been so kind,” said 
the woman. “Yes, I came to you, but only for a day, 
really. I will find something to do soon, I know. Mr. 
Banks offered me a place in his home with his mother. 
But I — Oh, Miss Starkweather, I know I should not have 
come here to annoy you. Mr. Banks told me of your finan- 
cial trouble, and that you could not take me in. But — 
but it’s only for a day, and — and — I could not accept the 
— the position he offered to me, because you see — that is — 
I — Oh, you don’t understand !” and again she gave way to 
her grief. 

During this disjointed, hesitating recital, Mary sat 
quietly listening. Suddenly a look of intelligence swept 
over her face, and her color deepened ; and when the voice 
ceased, and the little head again was bowed with its weight 
of trouble, there was a look of righteous indignation in 
Mary’s eyes that was good to see. The fine scorn that 
curled her lip and dilated her sensitive nostrils, seemed 
to pervade every fibre of her being as she rose with hash- 
ing eyes, and stood perfectly erect for a brief moment be- 
fore replying. Then, bending over, she laid her white 
hand on the bowed head with its wealth of black, shining- 
hair, and gently stroking it, she said with tenderest sym- 
pathy : 

“Yes, I do understand. I think I know Sidney Banks, 
and you have done right to come to me.” 

“How good you are !” said Mrs. Multon, lifting her tear- 
stained face. “I know I have no claim upon you, but ” 


42 Mary Starkweather. 

still have a home/^ replied Mary, ^^and you are wel- 
come.” Then, seeing the baby stir, she took it up, and 
leading the way into the house, called Trixey to her, and 
laying the babe in her arms said brightly : ‘T have brought 
you a pet, Trixey.” 

^'Oh, the dear little thing!” exclaimed the bewildered 
and astonished Trixey, as she cuddled the little one in her 
arms. 

“Trixey, this is Mrs. Multon, my guest. Carry the baby, 
and show her to the room next to mine, and make her 
comfortable.” 

“Yes, Miss Mary,” said the obedient Trixey. 

Mrs. Multon clasped Mary’s hand, and with quivering 
lips murmured : “God bless you I” then turned and fol- 
lowed Trixey through the wide hall, up the broad stair- 
way, to a room whose atmosphere was redolent with all 
the sweet odors of summer from the flowers and shrubs 
without. 

As Mrs. Multon left the room, Mary heard the voice of 
her father from the library opposite, speaking to his guest, 
who evidently was about to take his leave. Her father 
was saying: 

“We old comrades see each other so seldom that I am 
sorry to let you go so soon. But even this brief call is 
appreciated.” 

“I regret I cannot remain longer, but important busi- 
ness calls me back to the city. I don’t get here often, 
and I still have several calls to make in this neighbor- 
hood, and I would like to catch the next, train,” said Dr. 
Malridge, drawing out his watch and consulting it. “I 
looked in upon Colonel Eversoll, on my way from the sta- 
tion,” laughingly continued the doctor, “just exchanged a 
few shots with him, and came on here;” for these old 


Mary Starkweather, 43 

cronies never could meet without sparring, and each found 
in the other a foe worthy of his steel. 

“You found him the same bright, happy-go-lucky fel- 
low as of old, did you not?” laughed General Stark- 
weather, who was the eldest of the triumvirate. He was 
very fond of these old friends, and their battle of words 
was always much enjoyed by him. 

“Yes, just the same old scoffer, atheistic as ever, per- 
fectly incorrigible, and inconsistent,” sighed the doctor, 
shaking his head. “But, by the way,” changing the sub- 
ject, “I also ran into Sidney Banks as I came along. What 
a handsome fellow he has grown to be ! He is a great im- 
provement on the old man, his father, is he not?” 

“In appearance and education, yes,” replied the general ; 
“but otherwise, he is a chip of the old block. Money, 
money, money ! It is the only God he knows. It is the 
only thing he worships. He is trying very hard, through 
its influence, to push himself to the front socially and 
politically; and in certain quarters it has had its effect. 
His father, as you know, left him rich. He has multiplied 
his fortune rapidly. I fear that in many things he is 
even more unscrupulous than his father;” and General 
Starkweather sighed wearily. 

“I am sorry to hear this. I had hoped that through 
better advantages and happier environment, a nobler man 
than his father had been evolved,” said Dr. Malridge, again 
looking at his watch. “But I must be off. I must say 
good-by to Miss Mary. Where is she?” 

“Here I am,” said Mary, coming forward. “Hot going 
so soon, Dr. Malridge?” 

“Sorry, but I must tear myself away, else I shall not 
be able to see the rest of my friends. So, I must say good- 
by, my dear,” replied the doctor, taking her by the hand. 

“Good-by! don’t forget us,” said Mary. 


44 


Mary Starkweather. 

‘‘1 could as soon forget the sun/’ chivalrously protested 
the doctor, again pressing her hand. 

‘^As gallant as ever, I see,' laughed Mary, as Dr. Mai- 
ridge linked his arm in the general’s, and the two veterans 
sauntered down to where a man in an open buggy was wait- 
ing for the doctor. 

Mary stood and watched them with loving eyes — ^these 
two men so fond of each other. Then she sighed a little 
wearily, as she turned and entered the house. 


The Repulse of Sidney Banks. 


45 


CHAPTER III. 

THE REPULSE OF SIDNEY BANKS. 

Ho one had ever known a Starkweather to want for any- 
thing. They had the name of being lucky — ^ducky dogs, 
those Starkweathers,’’ was a common expression; and 
nothing would have more astonished General Stark- 
weather’s friends than to have learned that he was in need 
of financial assistance. And Sidney Banks, with his hand- 
some, smiling face, was the devil that had entered this 
Eden. 

Sidney’s father had been a tailor in Clinton. He was 
English, but born in America. He had spent some years 
of his early life in Louisiana; and had married there, 
coming to Clinton afterwards, where he took up his perma- 
nent residence. His wife was Spanish, of the ordinary class; 
but she was ravishingly beautiful, and possessed all the 
coquetry and witchery of her race. She was inordinately 
vain, wicked, and frivolous; and both she and her husband 
were ambitious and unscrupulous. 

During the War of the Rebellion, Sidney’s father had 
sought and obtained large contracts for supplying cloth- 
ing for the army, filling the orders with the worst goods 
on the market, and coining large sums of money at the 


46 Mary Starkweather. 

expense of the government. In this way he lay the foun- 
dation to an extensive fortune. When the war was over, 
he built an elegant mansion, installed his beautiful wife 
therein, set up his carriage, and made an effort to launch 
himself and family into fashionable society. He forgot 
entirely that he ever had sat cross-legged on his table ; and 
the word, shop, was stricken from his vocabulary. His 
great ambition was for Sidney — to educate him for a pro- 
fession and to keep him out of trade. Sidney far ex- 
ceeded his father’s anticipations. The boy had inherited 
all his mother’s marvelous beauty. He was strikingly 
handsome, bright, shrewd, and cunning. As he grew to 
manhood, he developed all the unscrupulousness of his 
father. He was wicked, ambitious, revengeful, and vin- 
dictive — all of which he managed to hide from the casual 
observer by his handsome exterior, his smooth, polished 
manner, and his undoubtedly great hypnotic power. He 
had studied for and had been admitted to the bar; but 
his aim was for social and political power. He determined 
to have them at any cost. Money would procure both, he 
thought, and even though young, his operations on Wall 
Street had been known to yield many times over his invest- 
ments. There seemed to be no limit to his ambition. He 
was physically strong. He cared for nothing that came 
easily. If a thing appeared difficult to obtain, he never 
rested until he possessed it. He loved to conquer, to feel 
that he was master. His horses were the hardest to man- 
age, his dogs savage and vicious. He loved to see them 
quail at his approach. 

To marry advantageously, would be, he knew, one of 
the greatest stepping-stones to his ambition socially, and 
he early determined to make Mary Starkweather his wife. 
Every exclusive door flew open to welcome a Starkweather. 
The prestige of the family was unquestioned on both sides 


47 


The Repulse of Sidney Banks. 

of the Atlantic. As servants to their country, there had 
been too many soldiers, statesmen, and diplomats by the 
name of Starkweather, not to find quick response at sound 
of it. Sidney Banks had heard all his life of the many 
deeds of heroism and devotion to their country of the de- 
scendants of this old .house. He appreciated the immense 
advantage, socially, an alliance with Mary would be to him, 
and he determined to leave no stone unturned to accomplish 
it. With this end in view, he courted young Hugh in 
every way possible, and took every means possible to in- 
gratiate himself into the good opinion of General Stark- 
weather and Mary. 

General Starkweather had two living children, Hugh and 
Mary. Hugh was six years older than his sister. He 
was a bright, honest, manly fellow, trusting and confiding. 
Living in the same place and being nearly the same age, 
Hugh and Sidney had grown up together. The boys at- 
tended different schools, but they were much together dur- 
ing their vacations at Clinton. As years passed, and they 
grew to manhood, it would have been plain for a keen 
observer, and for one who understood such things, to see 
that Sidney Banks possessed a peculiar power over young 
Hugh Starkweather. Sidney hated Hugh with a hate 
that almost exceeded understanding. It was born of jeal- 
ousy and envy. There was no human being on earth whom 
Sidney so envied. 

Once, when some of Hugh’s college-friends had been 
spending a week of their vacation at Mabelthorp, and Hugh 
had been showing them about the house and grounds, point- 
ing out objects and spots of historical interest, which drew 
forth from these young students of history, expressions of 
keenest delight and admiration, Sidney stole away by him- 
self, and clenching his hands until the nails cut deep into 
the fiesh, he actually shed tears of rage and hate. He 


48 Mary Starkweather. 

felt he could have killed his father and mother for be- 
ing of humble origin. He knew all the value of money, 
for in these days of multi-millionaires, the Starkweathers’ 
fortune, though ample, was, comparatively speaking, small. 
Sidney lived in a handsome and modern home, packed 
with the richest furniture. Money was rolling in, and he 
was heir to it all. Yet, he so loved admiration, desired 
so much to lead in everything, hungered so for homage, 
that he would have given all he possessed and would have 
sold his soul to the devil, if his Satanic Majesty could 
have put him in Hugh Starkweather’s place. He well 
knew that all the money he might ever accumulate, could 
never buy what Hugh possessed. Had it been in his power, 
he would have swept Mabelthorp from the face of the 
earth. 

In making up his mind to marry Mary, Sidney knew 
he was playing for high stakes. But he was inordinately 
vain and conceited, and while he knew his fortune would 
not aid him in the favor of Mary, he had the fullest con- 
fidence in his personal attractions. For this handsome 
Sidney was* fascinating, seductive, and accomplished. 
Too many languishing eyes were turned in his direction 
for him to be unaware of his power, and had he so desired, 
without doubt he could have married not only beauty, but 
position. But while he laughed and toyed with many, 
he thought only of Mary in the light of marriage. 

When Sidney was twenty-five, he concluded to wait no 
longer, but to press his suit with the utmost possible speed, 
as Mary was now eighteen, and every day enhanced her 
beauty. With most jealous eyes, he watched the many who 
approached her, but, as yet, he never had been aWe to 
discover that she showed the slightest preference for any 
one of the many who sought her society. Mary was high- 
minded and naturally imperious. She was full of happy. 


49 


The Repulse of Sidney Banks. 

buoyant life. She had lived much out of doors, sharing 
in many of her brother’s sports and exercises. She could 
ride, swim^ and shoot. She was a perfect vision of dawn- 
ing, electric, glowing, budding womanhood. She was kind 
by nature, but there was that natural woman’s intuition 
in her that made her almost distrust, at times, the dark, 
handsome face of her brother’s friend. But for Hugh’s 
sake, she always had been kind to Sidney. Of late, how- 
ever, he had been attentive to her in a way that was far 
from agreeable, and she had determined to see him as little 
as possible. 

It was in the early summer, and there was to be a pic- 
nic in the neighborhood. Sidney, knowing that Mary 
and Hugh would be there, had written a letter to Mary, 
in which he poured out his love in the most eloquent and 
impassioned manner, and besought her to become his wife. 
He announced his intention of going to the picnic, where 
he hoped to meet her, and to receive her answer. This 
letter he sent by mail, and, as luck would have it, Mary 
did not receive it before going. She and Hugh had ridden 
over on horseback, and, late in the afternoon, Mary was 
sauntering about the grounds, in her riding-habit, whip 
in hand. Ere she was aware of it^ she found herself some 
little distance from the others, and concealed from them 
by a clump of alder-trees. It was a lovely cool spot, and 
seating herself on a log, she was soon lost in a dreamy 
reverie, and was listlessly switching the grass with her rid- 
ing-whip. 

Sidney had watched her closely all the afternoon. She 
had given no unusual sign of recognition, but once, when 
he offered her some slight courtesy, he fancied her cheeks 
took on a deeper hue. At last, when he saw her withdraw 
from the others, his heart gave a great bound of joy; 
for in his egotism, he believed she was doing this to 


50 Mary Starkweather. 

give him an opportunity to follow her. He watched the 
tall, graceful figure until it disappeared from view. He 
was exultant. The victory had been easier than he had 
anticipated. From the moment he saw her retreating 
figure, he never doubted but that the result would be all 
he could desire, and feeling so perfectly sanguine of his 
success, he took his own time in joining her. He had the 
look of a conquering hero, as he approached her with 
nonchalant impudence. 

^^All alone, Miss Starkweather?^’ 

Glancing up, she looked straight into the eyes of Sidney. 
What was it in the burning, exultant gaze of those dark 
eyes that caused her to tremble ? There was an insolence, 
an assurance in his look, and there was a familiarity in 
his tone and attitude, as he leaned toward her, that sent the 
hot blood to her face in a flood of indignation. She started 
to rise. A mad impulse seized him. Mistaking her in- 
creasing color for embarrassment, he sprang forward, mak- 
ing an attempt to clasp her in his arms and to place a 
kiss upon her cheek. 

Wrenching herself from his grasp, and springing back 
like a young panther, Mary sent her whip singing through 
the air, with the strength of a young Amazon. The next 
instant it descended, cutting him across the cheek that 
quickly turned to dark purple. 

It was so unexpected, so unlooked for, that he lost all 
control of himself, and his face was dreadful to see, for it 
was white with rage, save for the purple welt. Fierce with 
passion, he exclaimed, as he pressed his hand to his burn- 
ing cheek: 

‘^You shall repent this!” 

^Tt is not in your power to make me repent it!” re- 
plied Mary in a scornful tone. She was deadlv pale and 
trembling with rage. Never in her life had she been so 


The Repulse of Sidney Banks. 51 

royally beautiful as at that moment, standing there with 
flashing eyes and curling lip. 

Sidney always had been received most kindly at Mabel- 
thorp. Never before had he been made to feel the im- 
measurable distance between them. But her tone said 
as plain as words : ^^It is not possible for one in your posi- 
tion to reach up to mine and injure me.” The words and 
tone stung him like a scorpion. Yet, strange as it may 
seem, he had never loved Mary until that moment, though 
it was the love of the vulture for the dove. He would 
have given worlds to clasp her in his arms and crush her 
into submission, and, as she gathered her skirts in her 
hand, and swept from his presence with a defiant, scorn- 
ful air, he was choked with rage. From that moment 
he was her enemy, and swore by the God that made him 
to be revenged. 

Hugh was both astonished and angry, when he learned 
of the affair from his sister, and could not account for 
Sidney’s daring to take such a liberty. But when they 
reached home, and Mary found the letter, in a measure it 
explained the presumption. Mary went at once to her 
father, and telling him all, gave him the letter, asking 
him to answer it. 

General Starkweather wrote to Sidney, telling him that 
his daughter did not receive his letter until after her re- 
turn from the picnic, and therefore, in her ignorance of 
the state of his feelings, she had not been able to account 
for his conduct; and this must be her excuse for her ex- 
treme resentment. He also expressed his regret at the 
occiirrence ; but, in a few words and as kindly as possi- 
ble, he let Sidney understand that there was no hope for 
him and that there was no more to be said on the sub- 
ject. 

Sidney read this letter twice, and although it was couched 


52 Mary Starkweather. 

in the kindest and most considerate terms, he ground his 
teeth in rage, for he read in it the doom to the hopes he 
had cherished for years. If he had envied and hated the 
Starkweathers before this, those sentiments were doubly 
intensified now. He tossed his arms wildly, in impotent 
rage; and, as he paced the fioor^ he clenched his hands 
with the ferocity of a fiend, and registered an oath that 
Mary should yet become his wife, or he would spend his life 
in crushing the Starkweathers, one and all. He then and 
there concluded to swallow his wrath and bide his time. 

Hugh was now twenty-four years old, but he was more 
like a boy of eighteen, frank and honest, distrusting no 
one. Hugh worshipped his sister. Sidney never had 
hinted his attachment for Mary to Hugh. If he had, or 
if Hugh had thought that there was the slightest possi- 
bility of his sister’s favoring Sidney, he would have op- 
posed it most earnestly. Yet, had he been asked his rea- 
son for feeling thus, he could not have given one. 

It was several days after this that Hugh met Sidney, 
and between the two, the affai was never mentioned. 

The following October, General Starkweather went 
abroad, taking his daughter with him. They intended re- 
maining two years, and expected Hugh to join them in the 
course of a few months. 

Hugh delayed his going from month to month, until a 
year had slipped away. Mary and her father were in 
Paris, on their way to Italy for the winter. They were 
waiting, hoping to have letters from Hugh telling them 
when to expect him. For days. General Starkweather had 
had a nervous, restless feeling in regard to his son. He 
oould not account for it, nor could he put it away from 
him. He felt an unaccountable drawing toward home, 
and had it not been that he feared to disappoint his daugh- 
ter, by cutting short their trip, he would have proposed 


53 


The Repulse of Sidney Banks. 

their immediate return to America. What then, was his 
surprise, on meeting his daughter, in the morning, after 
passing a sleepless night, to have her say to him; 

‘Tapa, dear, would you mind very much if we returned 
home instead of going to Italy 

^^Why do you ask that?” eagerly questioned her father. 
^Tecause^ for days I have felt that there was some- 
thing the matter with brother Hugh, and last night, I 
don’t know whether I was asleep or not, but I fancied I 
heard him calling us both. And, oh, papa dear, if you 
don’t mind, I would so much rather go home at once.” 

^^e will certainly go,” replied her father as he hurried 
to the office to see if they would have time to reach the 
next steamer, which was to sail the following morning. 
Finding they could do so, he telegraphed for accommoda- 
tions, and at the same time sent a cablegram to Hugh that 
they were just starting for home. 

When they reached Hew York, seven days later, they 
found their worst fears realized. Hugh was in the hos- 
pital, dangerously ill with brain fever, and five days after, 
he passed away. During that time he had but one lucid 
interval, and that occurred the day before the end came. 
It only lasted for a little while, but long enough for him 
to realize that his father and sister were at his bedside, 
and for him to make an effort to tell his father some- 
thing pertaining to his business. But before he could do 
so, he lapsed into unconsciousness from which he did not 
again awaken. 

After Hugh had been laid to rest beside his mother, at 
Mabelthorp, and before General Starkweather had time 
to recover from the frightful shock of losing his only son, 
Hugh’s body-servant, James, gave him a letter that Hugh 
had written, he said, the day after he was taken sick, and 
which he had made James promise not to give to the gen- 


54 Mary Starkweather. 

eral unless he should die. It would seem that Hugh had 
a premonition that he would not recover, and with this 
thought in his mind, he made a full statement of his busi- 
ness affairs. 

What was General Starkweather’s horror to learn that 
Hugh had been speculating on Wall Street, and had become 
involved to the extent of many thousand dollars more than 
he was able to pay. It was worrying over this, no doubt, 
that had brought about the illness that had ended his 
life. 

General Starkweather was no financier nor business man ; 
and he sat for some time, after reading the letter, almost 
stunned. The amount mentioned exceeded, by nearly fifty 
thousand dollars what he was able to meet. Finally, he 
arose with a determined air. Two things must be done: 
First, all this must be kept from Mary, who was prostrated 
from the loss of this dearly loved brother. Second, his 
son’s good name must be saved at any cost; and the only 
way to do it was to mortgage Mabelthorp. 

He immediately went to Clinton, and negotiated a loan 
through Isaac Solmon^ a broker. In a week’s time every 
claim against Hugh Starkweather had been paid. 

Long, weary weeks of sorrow followed, which ever after- 
ward seemed like a troubled dream to both Mary and her 
father. The shock had been so sudden, so great. Each 
tried to comfort and cheer the other, but both were pale 
and showed their suffering. It was the first time that 
Mabelthorp had been without a male heir. Mary realized 
what a blow this must be to her father. Everything at 
Mabelthorp recalled Hugh, and accentuated their suffering. 
Mary felt that if she could persuade her father to go away 
for a time, it would do him good. The general also had 
been anxious on his daughter’s account, as daily she seemed 


The Repulse of Sidney Banks. 55 

growing paler and thinner. So, when Mary proposed a 
change, he was only too glad to acquiesce. 

They went to Philadelphia, and on to Washington; 
then to Baltimore, lingering in each city only for a short 
time. Still, Mary did not improve, and the general felt 
she was making a tremendous effort on his account. A 
sickening dread came over him, gripping his heart as if 
in a vise. What if this loved daughter should fade away 
and die ? The thought was maddening, and he now became 
thoroughly aroused on her account. He suggested their 
going to Boston, as there, he had an old and valued friend, 
who was one of the most eminent physicians in America, 
and he desired to consult him in regard to his daughter. 
But when they reached Boston, and he proposed it to Mary, 
she would not hear of it, declaring she was perfectly well. 
Learning of an eminent Italian singer, who was teaching 
in Boston, Mary proposed that they should remain for a 
time that she might avail herself of his instruction; to 
which her father agreed. Each dreaded for the other 
the return to Mabelthorp. Each thought only of the 
other. 

Weeks passed, and although Mary made every effort to 
be cheerful, her father could see that she was growing 
weaker every day. He could see that she took no interest 
in her music, and readily conjectured it had been only 
an excuse to prolong their stay from Mabelthorp. He 
now became genuinely alarmed, and began to feel, in spite 
of his daughters objections, he must call in a physician; 
when suddenly, without any apparent cause, she began to 
change for the better. Her step became firmer, her color 
gradually came back, and her sweet face was once more 
wreathed in smiles. Her father was overjoyed at her re- 
turning health, and he, too, began to regain his wonted 
color and vigor, and in the spring, when they returned to 


56 


Mary Starkweather. 

Mabelthorp, both had, in a great measure, become their 
strong, helpful, healthful selves. 

The summer slipped away, and winter came and went, 
and spring had come again. Mary was wonderfully gay 
and happy. When the buds began to open, the house had 
been turned topsy-turvy. Such a house-cleaning ! 
There had been so much painting and varnishing and 
renovating that the old manor-house shone, inside and 
out, like a mirror. 

Some one in New York had written to the general, ask- 
ing the privilege of taking views and of writing an histori- 
cal sketch of Mabelthorp. Two men came there for that 
purpose, and Mary had been much interested, assisting 
them, suggesting notable and historical objects and places, 
and giving bits of information regarding each ; for 
she truly loved Mabelthorp, and gloried in its history. 
Many views were taken, both inside and outside the house. 
To Mary the most precious of all, was a splendid snap- 
shot of her father, standing in the picture-gallery before 
her mother’s portrait. This was the best photograph 
taken, and the general was quite unaware that he had been 
‘^shot,” as Mary laughingly termed it. 


Plans to Rain the Starkweathers, 


57 


CHAPTER IV. 

SIDNEY PLANS TO RUIN THE STARKWEATHERS. 

Sidney Banks had never lost sight of his revenge. He 
had not seen Mary, to speak to her, since the day of that 
memorable picnic, until long after her return to America. 
When General Starkweather had taken his daughter and 
had gone to Europe, where Sidney knew she would find 
hundreds of admirers, where her father’s name would he 
sufficient passport to the ^finner circles,” his jealousy knew 
no hounds, and he felt that Mary had escaped him. But 
if he could humble her by disgracing her — could drag the 
name of Starkweather through the mire — it would be some 
compensation. Every step higher that he had climbed 
up the social ladder, he owed to Hugh, and he hated him 
for it. 

After the general and Mary were gone, Sidney saw 
Hugh more than ever. It was he that had led Hugh into 
his wild speculations. He had sworn to ruin him, body 
and soul. But death had mercifully stepped in and robbed 
him of his victim before he had much more than begun 
the schemes he had carefully laid, and that he intended 
should be a process of slow torture. Therefore, Hugh’s 
death was an awful blow to Sidney. He knew his power 


58 Mary Starkweather. 

over Hugh, and he had intended to lead him through every 
phase of debauchery possible. To do this, he felt he must 
entangle him financially. Sidney knew Hugh’s pride; 
and he thought if he could get him in a corner, where, in 
order to save himself, he could induce him to commit 
forgery, and thus get him into prison, eventually, he v/ould 
then have, at least, one big installment of his revenge. His 
cunning was satanic. He flattered himself he knew Hugh 
Starkweather; but he did not. Hugh was confiding and 
trusting, and through Sidney’s persuasion and acting un- 
der his instruction, he had made some small ventures. 
At first he had been wonderfully successful ; but before he 
was aware of it, he had become deeply involved through 
larger speculations. To Hugh, who was unacquainted with 
business and had never owed a dollar he could not pay, 
the situation was appalling. When he realized his mis- 
fortune and that he was not only compromising himself, 
but also his father and sister, he turned to Sidney for 
advice. And that friend, instead of assisting him out of 
his difficulties, laughed at him for being timid, and sug- 
gested that he have a little more nerve, and plunge in more 
deeply and retrieve what he had lost. 

Nature had not designed Hugh to be a votary to evil. 
When conscience was aroused it was true to her charge. 
Habitual vice would have been impossible to him; and 
when Sidney hinted at ways and means of obtaining more 
money, Hugh became thoroughly convinced that there 
was something wrong. He had always been surrounded 
by the atmosphere that envelops real goodness; and al- 
though remorse preyed upon him, he would not drown it 
by indulgences nor recklessness. 

Hugh kept away from Sidney, who felt so sure his 
victim would soon look him up, that he was not at all 
troubled about his absence. However, as days went by, 


Plans to Ruin the Starkweathers. 59 

and Hugh did not appear, he began to be uneasy. Tak- 
ing up a paper, one morning, what was his surprise to see 
the faces of General Starkweather and his daughter, and 
to read that they had returned from Europe to find Hugh 
dangerously ill in the hospital. A few days afterward, 
he saw the announcement of Hugh’s passing away with- 
out regaining consciousness. 

Did Sidney have any remorse for his share in causing 
Hugh’s death? Not a bit of it. His only regret was 
that Hugh had escaped him, and that he had not been 
able to get him still more involved than he really was. He 
wrote a letter of condolence to the general and attended 
the funeral. 

Hugh, with his frank, confiding nature, often had talked 
freely of his father’s affairs. In this way, Sidney knew 
that the general could not meet Hugh’s obligations. Thus, 
it was with great satisfaction that he awaited the denoue- 
ment^ which, to his surprise, did not come. He watched 
the papers carefully, expecting to see something about 
the demands of Hugh’s creditors. He then began to in- 
quire around, and learned, to his astonishment, that al- 
ready the general had paid to the last dollar, and without 
question, every claim against his son. Again was Sidney 
thwarted. “Where had the money come from?” was the 
next question. Sidney hurried to Clinton, and quietly 
made inquiries. He soon learned of the mortgage and who 
held it. Now, the next thing was to control Solmon, the 
broker. 

Sidney was one of the principal stockholders, as well 
as a director, in the National Bank of Clinton^ where Isaac 
Solmon did his banking. He knew much of the broker’s 
affairs. He was enormously rich, but he was very avari- 
cious and could not bear to lose a penny. He had quite 
a good deal of “paper” out, which Sidney made it a point 


6o Mary Starkweather. 

to buy up and hold in his own hands; for, be it known, 
Sidney’s fortune in the past few years, had rolled up into 
the millions. So adroit had been his manipulations that 
the financial crisis had left him unscathed. In fact, he 
had managed to make money out of it. 

From the time the general returned from Boston, Sid- 
ney kept himself informed of all his movements. He 
also avoided meeting him. He came upon him unex- 
pectedly, one day, and was pleasantly greeted by the gen- 
eral, who could not hold unkind feelings toward any one, 
much less toward a young fellow, like Sidney, who, as a 
boy, had played with his children. He had no fondness 
for Sidney, and he could appreciate his daughter’s feel- 
ings in regard to him. Nevertheless, as Sidney now seemed 
tc be much in Clinton, and as Mary would be compelled 
to meet him often, he advised his daughter to treat him 
kindly and ignore the past. 

Mary was as proud as ever. But of late there was a 
great change in her, an inexpressible tenderness and gen- 
tleness. She seemed to be constantly reaching out to aid, 
strengthen, and comfort others. She always had been 
a delight to her father. Now, she was a full-grown wo- 
man, and a solace and a joy to him. 

When Mary’s father spoke to her about Sidney, she grace- 
fully acquiesced. She did not like him; but all anger 
had died out in her heart. 

Soon after the conversation with her father in regard 
to Sidney, she met him at a reception in Clinton. Sidney 
watched her from afar. She had all the ease and savoir 
faire that come to those familiar with the best society. 
When she entered the room, all eyes turned to her. Her 
great beauty was positively enthralling. Mary had not 
seen Sidney, and turning suddenly, she met him face to 
face. He did not know whether to advance or to re- 


Plans to Ruin the Starkweathers. 6i 

treat. But she held out her hand and smiled sweetly. He 
took it in his own. What was it in this man’s touch that 
sent the hot blood surging to this sensitive girl’s face, and 
then, left her deadly pale and her heart throbbing so that 
she could hardly stand? 

Sidney felt her hand tremble in his, noticed also the 
changing color of this proud, self-possessed girl, and as 
Mary passed on, he tried to solve the problem. And Mary 
wondered at herself. She only knew that when she touched 
his hand she was chilled. Her intuitive nature shrank 
from him, she knew not why. 

Mary had been brought up in the midst of high, honor- 
able and correct associations. Low, mean and vicious self- 
ishness she did not understand. How, then, could she 
judge this man? She could not. She only knew that 
even to touch his hand was repulsive to her. She re- 
proached herself for the feeling, and tried to excuse Sid- 
ney. She knew he had been brought up in a blighting 
atmosphere. His love of gain was inordinate. Power, 
social and otherwise, were his aims. Some of these evil 
attributes might have been eradicated by proper training; 
but, instead, they had been fostered and encouraged by 
both his father and mother, who, she had heard people say, 
would fairly turn sick with envy of the very people they 
hated. 

Mary truly felt sorry for him, and she made a vow, 
then and there, that she would overcome this prejudice. 

Ah, if she could have seen his warped, deformed moral 
nature under his smiling exterior, and had she known that 
he was a most perfect actor, that he knew no pity, that 
his heart was ice, his nerves steel, that he feared neither 
God, man, nor devil. 

And what interpretation did Sidney put upon her emo- 
tion? He was a conceited coxcomb. At once his inor- 


62 


Mary Starkweather. 


dinate vanity took possession of him. He was aware that 
he had gained and not lost in good looks since they last 
met. His father had died since then, and he was now 
ranked with the millionaires. He thought of her father’s 
friendly greeting a few days previous. Perhaps, after 
all, the affair of three years ago was merely the caprice of 
a girl. She was certainly changed since then, and she 
was very much affected when he took her hand in his. 
The very fact that he could make her tremble, gave him 
joy. Could it be that there was still hope for him? The 
thought was intoxicating. He knew she had crowds of 
admirers, but he heard that she gave encouragement to 
none. He listened, for she was now singing. The guests 
stood spellbound, as her glorious voice, full, clear and 
sweet, filled the room with a perfect shower of melody. 

The storm of applause that greeted her as they urged 
her again and again to sing, attested their appreciation. 
She had a voice of rare sweetness and power. Even on 
the professional stage, it would have been difficult to have 
found her superior. 

Sidney watched her, watched how these people seemed 
to adore her as if she were a queen. She was at home 
here, but he knew it was the same wherever she went, 
that the proud, fashionable dames of Gotham, one and 
all, knew Mary, and that their doors were open to her at 
all times. She was accomplished, and had beauty, and 
an intellect that had been enhanced by all the advantages 
of life. Her friends felt grateful, it was a benefit re- 
ceived when they could lure her from Mabelthorp for a 
visit. What wonder that Sidney was ready to do and 
dare that he might possess this woman and call her his 
wife, and aristocratic, historical Mabelthorp, ^^our home.” 
His insufferable vanity made him hopeful. He had so 
often seen women flush and tremble and turn pale at his 


\ 




) 


Plans to Ruin the Starkweathers. 63 

approach. Therefore, this handsome, fascinating libertine 
could put but one construction on Mary’s agitation. He 
watched her, and saw her greet friend after friend in the 
most cordial, self-possessed manner. It was only at Ms 
touch that she trembled and changed color. He 
might have thought her embarrassment came from the 
recollection of their last meeting had she flushed when 
she first met his eye. But she did not. When she stretched 
out her hand in greeting, it was with ease and a divinely 
beautiful smile on her face. It was only when her hand 
met Ms that she showed agitation. From that moment 
he felt he had a power over her such as he wielded over 
so many women, and which so few could resist. He was 
overjoyed. He determined to use this power to the ut- 
most, to make it serve him in attracting to him this wo- 
man. He was glad, now, that Hugh had become no more 
deeply involved, and that he was dead. If he should 
marry Mary, there would be no one to stand between him 
and Mabelthorp. 

That night on which he met Mary, he never slept. He 
lay awake, forming his plans. To marry Mary, and then to 
plunge into politics and climb up where he could make his 
name known, and to sway the people beneath him — ^this 
was his ambition. Through an alliance with Mary and 
with his money he determined to carve a future. ^‘Who 
knows,” he thought to himself, ‘Vhat I shall be? Per- 
chance the highest office in the gift of the people may yet 
be mine.” And in the anticipation of it, he almost hugged 
himself for Joy. .Never for a moment did it enter his head 
to attain all this through honorable means. Mary, Mabel- 
thorp, money, friends, were merely stepping-stones to his 
ambition. What did he care, so long as he gained it, how 
he reached the goal ! If each step had to be taken over 
a grave, and each grave that of a dear friend, he would have 


64 Mary Starkweather. 

unhesitatingly gone forward. He was totally callous to 
all things human save humanity’s dollars. It is almost 
impossible to conceive of any one more degraded, dr 
signing or malicious. His jealousy for what did not 
belong to him, for what had never been his, and on which 
he had no claim, was absolutely fiendish. Who was to 
blame for this warped mental condition? From his very 
conception he had been impregnated with sin by parents 
who were consumed by vanity, avarice and envy so inten- 
sified that they had built into the body of their unborn 
child their own sinful dispositions. The very blood and 
atoms of his body were saturated with these evil attributes. 
His mother, vain, frivolous, sensual, revelling in her own 
physical beauty, laboring to enhance and make it more 
attractive, resulted in her bringing into the world a child 
with a beautiful body, but with a dwarfed and blackened 
soul. Born into this contaminating atmosphere, to parents 
who knew no holy impulses, who reverenced no god but 
mammon, he had grown to manhood, and had gone out 
among men, attracting to himself all the most evil, shrewd, 
unscrupulous lovers of mammon, and with his perfect 
physical beauty and his intense animal and hypnotic power 
blighting and repelling every good thing that came in his 
way, he was worse than the wild beast of the forest. Such 
ever is the human animal that goes through the world 
seeking whom it may devour, and leaving sorrow and 
disaster in its wake. 

Such was the man who now swore a solemn oath to 
either enter the Eden of this peaceful home, as master, 
or bring it down in wreck and ruin on the unoffending 
heads of its inmates. Therefore, he went to work, with 
the cunning of the very devil himself, to execute his plans. 
He determined to make no more mistakes. He would set 
lynx eyes to watch the general, he would know exactly 


Plans to Ruin the Starkweathers. 65 

what he was doing, where he went, whom he visited, and in 
this way he would be enabled, little by little, to hem him in 
and wind him in a labyrinth from which he could not escape. 
He determined to get Solmon under his control, and use 
him as his instrument. Even Solmon, with all his love 
of greed, could not match Sidney in his shrewdness and 
in his worship of the mighty dollar. His days, now, 
were taken up in scheming and planning, and never had 
he been so happy. Day by day he exulted as he saw the 
web tightening about the geneial. It was to be ruin to the 
Starkweathers or triumph for himself. 


66 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTEE V. 

SIDNEY IS FOILED AGAIN. 

At about this time, and while Sidney was still in Clin- 
ton, as he was walking down the street, one day, he no- 
ticed a young woman somewhat in advance of him. He 
recollected that he had seen this same person once or twice 
before. He remembered the shapely form, and noticed that 
she seemed to be looking for some number as she con- 
sulted a paper she carried in her hand. He also remem- 
bered that he had tried to get a glimpse of her face, 
but that it was concealed behind a veil. Now, however, 
she wore none. She was walking hurriedly, looking neither 
to the right nor to the left. Her dress, that just cleared 
the ground, was black and very plain, but it did not con- 
ceal the exquisite form, the beautiful, sloping shoulders, 
the swellng bust, and the slender waist. She was a little 
above medium height, and walked easily and gracefully. 
Sidney noticed that nearly every one she met turned and 
looked after her. But apparently she heeded no one. 
When she reached the crossing, she put her hand back 
and daintily lifted her dress. The hand was ungloved, 
and white as snow, with beautiful, long, tapering fingers 
Sidney just caught a glimpse of a neat boot, worn, it is 


Sidney is Foiled Again. 67 

true, but showing the arched instep of the patrician. The 
graceful lifting of the dress, the dainty stepping across 
the street, the carriage of the figure, all stamped her a 
lady. 

Sidney was interested and was determined to see her 
face. Accordingly, he quickened his pace; but she was 
walking so rapidly that it was some minutes before he 
caught up with her. Just as he was about to pass her, 
intending to get a good look at her, she hastily entered a 
small confectionery shop. He was just near Enough so 
that as she turned 'o go in, he had a glimpse of the side 
of her face and her beautifully rounded chin. He passed 
on, but he was not satisfied. She had an air, a style about 
her, that was not at all in keeping with her attire. And 
this game-hunter at once determined to learn who she 
was. Her walking straight along, minding her own busi- 
ness, noticing no one, was no protection to her from Sid- 
ney. Eather^ it was a stimulus for pursuit. He felt sure, 
from the glances he had seen persons bestow on her, that 
she must be beautiful. Her figure showed that she was 
youthful. Then, she was evidently poor, which, to the 
vulgar eyes of Sidney, made her common prey for flirtation. 
This handsome roue had been graduated in the art of 
flirting. How many silly, unfortunate girls had fiirted 
with him to their everlasting sorrow. Sidney walked a 
little way, then turned back, thinking he would enter the 
shop. Just as he reached it, she appeared, carrying a small 
parcel in her hand. As she stepped out, she lifted her eyes 
and looked straight ahead, passing rapidly on down the 
street. Sidney was there, right before her, but she never 
noticed him. Her face was so different from what he had 
expected that he was startled. Beautiful? Yes; but the 
saddest face imaginable. All the roundness of youth was 
there, but not a shadow of color. She had great, mourn- 


68 Mary Starkweather. 

ful, black eyes that made one’s heart ache just to look at 
them, and would have brought pity to the heart of a 
stone. Not so with Sidney. He immediately began to 
analyze the situation, as he kept her in sight. First, did 
she see him? He thought she did, but she showed no 
sign. His vanity was piqued. He could not possibly 
understand how any woman could see him and be indif- 
ferent. He did not like it. She should notice him. He 
would follow her and make it impossible for her not to see 
him. Then, her black dress, and her face so different 
from what he had expected. Her dress showed she was 
poor, her face showed that she was in trouble; poverty 
and trouble, and no doubt in need of money. Oh, it would 
be easy to manage the whole thing! He would just fin d 
out where she lived, and take his time about it. She was 
so different from the flirty dames and damsels that he was 
accustomed to meet in the street. It was plain to see that 
she was not out looking for prey. She was too earnest, 
too serious. He began to feel a new sensation. Did he 
have one honest, good thought as he followed this woman 
down the street? Not one. Every step she took, every 
graceful motion of her body, only awakened in him a de- 
sire to possess her, to ruin her. And then cast her off ? That 
did not enter into his calculations. That was an after 
consideration for which he did not care. According to 
his code, she must look out for that. 

But where was she going? They had reached the sub- 
urbs, and were on the direct road that led to Mabel- 
thorp. He was now deeply interested in the pursuit. On 
she went, closely followed by Sidney, when, what was 
his surprise and delight to see her turn to a wretched^ 
tumbledown cottage, and without knocking, enter it. The 
place was not much more than a mere shelter of three or 
four rooms. Yet, it was clean and tidy, and there were 


Sidney is Foiled Again. 69 

a few pots of flowers in the windows that were screened 
with simple muslin curtains. The house belonged to him, 
and was occupied by an old woman, a Mrs. Dennis, who 
took in plain sewing, and did anything by which she 
could make an honest living. Sidney was overjoyed. It 
would be so easy, now, to find out who she was and all 
about her. 

He walked on down the road a little way. Then, he re- 
turned and knocked at the door. It was opened by the 
old woman, who, evidently was much surprised and flus- 
tered. Sidney made an excuse for his call by asking some 
questions about the house, to which the poor old soul made 
almost incoherent replies. She was quite overpowered by 
the visit of the rich Sidney Banks. He had never troubled 
himself to call and see her before, her dealings having 
been entirely with his agent. Sidney saw the embarrass- 
ment his visit caused, and he enjoyed it; saw how his 
presence made the poor old woman almost speechless with 
awe. But Sidney was very adroit. Little by little, he 
gradually drew her out, until he discovered that in order 
to eke out her rent and lessen her expenses, she had let 
one of her rooms to a lady, a seamstress like herself. 

Sidney concluded that he had learned enough for the 
present. The fact that the woman was permanently lo- 
cated there, was sufficient. He could see her at his leisure. 
He arose, and telling the old lady he would make some 
repairs in the house, and that he would come again, he 
was about to take his departure, when an inner door 
opened and the woman whom he had been following, en- 
tered. She was carrying an infant in her arms. She was 
looking down at it, and began saying something to Mrs. 
Dennis about the babe ; therefore, she did not see Sidney 
until she was well in the room. Then, looking up sud- 
denly, she caught his expression of admiration, She was 


70 


Mary Starkweather. 

deadly pale, but at the sight of a stranger the blood surged 
to her face in a torrent of embarrassment. The old wo- 
man said: 

^^Mrs. Multon, this is Mr. Banks, our landlord.^^ 

Mrs. Multon inclined her head slightly in acknowledg- 
ment of the introduction, and murmuring something about 
not knowing that Mrs. Dennis had a visitor, turned to 
leave the room. But Sidney sprang forward, and push- 
ing a chair toward her, said : 

^Tray be seated. I was just going to take my depar- 
ture;’^ and placing the chair in the most desirable place, 
he said in his most winning manner and with the tenderest 
solicitude : ^^You must take it, or I shall feel I have driven 
you from the room. You look tired.” 

A low murmured ^^Thank you,” and she sank into the 
chair ; for she was tired, oh, so tired ! 

She had removed her hat. Her hair, that was with- 
out bang or curl, and black as a raven’s wing, was parted 
in the middle, showing a snowy line from forehead to crown 
and was drawn back in thick braids that were coiled down 
low on the back of her shapely head. As she bent over 
the babe in her arms, she was a fascinating picture. Had she 
been happy and prosperous she would have been strikingly 
handsome. But her face was too wan and pale, and so very, 
very sad. Sidney did not know what to make of it. Could 
this child be hers? She was not much more than a child 
herself. He made several remarks, hoping to draw her 
out, to get a reply from her; but she did not raise her 
eyes nor speak until he was leaving the house. Then, 
she merely glanced up and inclined her head. At the door 
he made some remark to the old lady about the fence, and 
gradually drew her out of the house into the yard. She 
was a garrulous old soul, and when she had recovered from 
the embarrassment caused by his sudden visit, it was not 


71 


Sidney is Foiled Again. 

difficult for a smooth-tongued man like Sidney, to get her 
to tell all she knew concerning Mrs. Multon. It was not 
much. She only knew that she was a widow of a few 
months’ duration; that she had little money; that her 
babe had been very ill, and that she was looking for work. 

Sidney was more than half disgusted with himself. He 
never had thought that she might be a married woman, 
not that that fact would have cut any figure in his pur- 
suit of her, especially had her husband been living; for 
that circumstance always lent interest to the chase. The 
delight of outwitting some one had always been to him 
as great a compensation as the possession of the one pur- 
sued. As Sidney wended his way back into town, he 
thought to himself: ^‘What a fool I have made of myself, 
trotting all the afternoon after a woman of that stripe. 
She may think she is very slick with her fairy-story to the 
old woman about being a widow; but she can’t fool me. 
It’s another case of loving ^not wisely, but too well.’ What 
idiots women are to think they can go about, palming off 
such stories, and expecting people to believe them! Of 
course she knows I am rich, and her shyness and refusal 
to enter into the conversation, were only a very thin ruse 
to lead me on. If there’ were anything to lend a little 
spice to the hunt, the game might be worth the candle. 
But, as it is, it’s too easy sailing. I have but to open my 
arms and my purse, and she would fall into both, kid and 
all. Oh, no, my lady ! I’m too old a bird for that sort of 
thing. It takes better chaff than a fine figure and a dainty 
carriage to catch me. Besides, it doesn’t matter what you 
have been, you’re no beauty now, with your big hollow eyes 
and pale face. So, good-by to you.” 

Thus soliloquized Sidney as he walked back into town. 
To the judge of human nature, his appearance, as he 
glanced inquiringly at every woman that passed him, in- 


72 


Mary Starkweather. 

dicated his pride, haughtiness, and above all, his sensual- 
ity. But also to the casual observer, he was a magnificent 
specimen of perfectly groomed manhood. And nearly 
every woman he met was willing to bestow upon him, at 
least a second glance. 

Sidney thought he had put Mrs. Multon effectually 
out of his mind. Not so. No matter where he went, he 
could mentally see the graceful figure, as she walked along, 
or as she bent over her babe. The pale face and great 
black eyes haunted him with the result, that the next after- 
noon found him at the cottage. But although he stayed 
some time, Mrs. Multon did not make her appearance. 
He called the next day and the next, with the same re- 
sult. 

At last, he concluded he would have to make some ex- 
cuse to see her, so that he could directly ask for her. 
With this thought in mind he talked to his mother about 
Mrs. Multon, said she was poor, that she needed assistance, 
and asked if she did not need a sewing-woman to come and 
live in the house. 

Sidney^s mother was too much like him not to under- 
stand this darling son. She finally consented, but there 
was nothing good nor noble in her face, as she said : 

“If you want me to, I will take the woman. I can 
find plenty for her to do ; but I’ll not have a squalling baby 
around. Let her put it an asylum for children. I am on 
the board of directors of one of these institutions, and I 
can make arrangements for them to take the child.” 

“The very thing!” thought Sidney. “That brat has 
been the drawback all the time. Why didn’t I think 
of it before? No doubt she’ll be glad to be rid of it;” 
and with this thought in mind, he hurried to the cottage. 
He knocked at the door, and after a moment’s waiting, to 
his great pleasure, Mrs. Multon opened it. He lifted his 


73 


Sidney is Foiled Again. 

hat and moved forward to enter; but, instead of stepping 
back and allowing him to do so, she, in the most self- 
possessed manner imaginable, said, in return to his salu- 
tation : 

^^Good morning, Mr. Banks. I am sorry, but Mrs. 
Dennis is not at home.” 

^^How soon will she return? I don’t mind waiting,” 
said Sidney, very much irritated at her indifference and 
at her keeping him standing at the door, like a common 
messenger. 

don’t think she will return for some time,” replied 
Mrs. Multon, and he noticed a faint tinge of color come 
into her face over which flitted an expression of annoyance. 
Still, with her hand upon the door, she did not move, 
evidently waiting for him to go. And it was very plain 
to be seen that she desired it. A man of refined feeling 
would have hesitated about thrusting himself upon any 
woman under the circumstances. Not so with Sidney. 
Her evident reluctance only whetted his determination to 
submit her to his will. Assuming his most adroit man- 
ner, and in a voice in which there was apparently much 
interest, he said: 

‘^Mrs. Multon, Mrs. Dennis told me you were looking 
for some work. And it is you I came to see about some 
work for my mother.” 

She looked up joyfully, eagerly. The color swept into 
her face, her eyes gleamed, and, for the moment, she 
was startlingly beautiful. It was like the sun shining 
through the clouds and rain. 

Not an expression was lost on Sidney. He had not 
realized before, that it was possible for any one to be so 
overjoyed at the prospect of obtaining work, that it could 
completely transform one. But such was the case with 
Mrs. Multon. The eager light that shone in her eyes 


74 Mary Starkweather. 

gratified him, and he thought: ^^Bj-and-by she will be 
beautiful;’’ and he said in his most fascinating manner: 

^^You are not going to keep me out here on the steps, 
are you ? Won’t you let me come in and talk to you about 
what my mother wishes?” 

She hesitated an instant, as if she had some reason 
for wishing him not to enter. Then she stepped back, 
and he walked into the house. She placed a chair for 
him, and made some slight apology about the room not be- 
ing in perfect order, while he, in the most gallant and se- 
ductive manner, replied significantly: 

“I never know what is in a room. I only know who 
is in it.” 

It would have taken a duller woman than Mrs. Multon 
not to have understood the significance of the words. And 
again the color fiooded her face. She was so young, so 
helpless, so needy. It was a fiery ordeal. Would she 
come through it unscathed? 

Sidney watched the color come and go in the sensitive 
face, with a thrill of exultation. He had in his hand a 
parcel that he now presented to her, saying: 

^^Here is a basket of strawberries. I purchased them, 
as I came along, thinking you might enjoy them;” and 
he held them out toward her. She hesitated. 

^^Take them,” he said, want you to have them.” 

Mrs. Multon was a lady. To refuse them she thought 
would seem prudish, and she tried to think he only had 
meant to be kind ; but her proud features showed her feel- 
ings, and it was with evident reluctance that she accepted 
the gift. When Sidney gave her the parcel he managed 
to touch her hand. Again the telltale blood leapt to her 
brow. He liked this sort of thing, and determined to pro- 
long it. But Mrs. Multon, summoning all her self-pos- 


Sidney is Foiled Agaia 75 

session, and with a determined, courageous air, seated her- 
self, and with a hopeful look on her face, said: 

“Now, Mr. Banks, I am ready and anxious to know 
how I can serve your mother.’^ She looked so matter-of- 
fact and assumed such a business-like manner, that, for 
the moment, he felt quite disconcerted. Her manner said, 
as plain as words, “I am waiting. Please make your busi- 
ness known.^^ She evidently had recovered her control, 
and with her white hands folded in her lap, she waited for 
him to begin. 

Sidney did not like this at all. He had intended to 
prolong the interview, to lead up to it gradually. This 
matter-of-fact proceeding was new to him; he was at loss 
to know how to begin. Had she no sentiment? Could 
she turn what might be a friendly, jolly, little visit into 
a cold, business transaction so soon ? He wanted to know 
her a little better. He wanted time to ingratiate himself 
into her confidence, to appear to be interested to such a 
degree that she should feel that he was her benefactor. 
Finally he said: 

“You seem to be in a hurry, Mrs. Multon.’’ 

“Indeed I am. I am anxious to get to work and earn 
something,” she replied as she turned her pure face to- 
ward him. “And let me say, now, that I think it was very 
good in you to remember what Mrs. Dennis told you, and 
to speak to your mother about me. I thank you for it, 
and I hope I can, in some way, show my appreciation. If 
you will only tell me what I can do, or if your mother will 
only send me the work, that I may get it at once, I will 
be so glad.” 

Could any one see her sitting there, with eager face, 
and not have his heart respond in deepest sympathy ? Her 
appeal for work was like a cry for help. It would have 
moved the most callous heart. 


76 Mary Starkweather. 

But the true pathos of the woman's cry fell unheeded 
on the hot, fiery, nature of this man. He only thought, 
^^She is the least sentimental woman I ever met." It was 
disappointing. Finally he said: 

^^It's too bad a charming woman like you should have 
to earn her living by sewing." 

She looked at him with pained surprise, but seemed not 
to know what to say, and he went on : 

^^Have you no friends nor relatives to look after you?" 

^^No one," she said. 

^^You are so young, so beautiful, to be all alone." 

Mrs. Multon crimsoned painfully, and springing from 
her chair, she cried in a voice of agony: 

^‘Oh, Mr. Banks! do not let us talk of myself. Tell 
me what it is your mother wants me to do. I want work. 
I can do it if only I have the opportunity. If she will 
only send it to me, she need not be afraid to trust me. I 
was taught in a convent, and I sew beautifully." 

Her voice was full of tears. Sidney came toward her. 
He could seem anything he chose, and bringing a world 
of sympathy into his voice, he said, attempting to take her 
hand : 

‘^You poor little girl! All alone in the world! You 
must let me look after you." 

She drew back; she instinctively knew something was 
wrong. He noticed she was indifferent to his compliments. 
How was he going to manage this woman? Every minute 
increased his interest in her. She was so different from 
the women he had heretofore met, that he was puzzled to 
know what course to pursue ; but every move she made 
away from him, only attracted him the more. He was 
growing impatient. He always had been so conscious of 
his power, and in affairs of this kind he always had had 
his own way. Women literally fell into his arms ; but here 


77 


Sidney is Foiled Again. 

was a woman that acted as if it would take very little to 
make her fly from him. So poor a judge of human nature 
was he, that he was not sure whether she was affecting 
this, or whether it was real. But this very uncertainty 
lent an interest to the affair. He concluded, at last, that 
he would have to use a good deal of tact. So, restraining 
his impatience, he said, very tenderly : 

am truly and deeply sorry for you, and I am going 
to take you to my mother, and ask her to look after you.’^ 

Instantly a warm, beautiful light stole into her face; 
her eyes grew soft and tender, filling with tears. 

^^You will go to her, will you not?” continued he. 

^^Oh, if I could!” she replied, and for an instant her 
eyes were blinded with tears. His voice and manner 
touched her, and she thought, ^^He must be a good man 
to want to take me to his mother.” The very word, 
mother, seemed to open the flood-gates of her soul, and it 
was with difficulty that she could control herself. 

^^ell, you can go. There is nothing to prevent, is 
there? This is no place for you.” 

^^But my little one — ^your mother, does she know?” 

^^Oh, yes; I told her all about it. She will find a place 
for it, and fix the matter up so you won’t have any trou- 
ble.” 

She did not take in the significance of his words, and 
a soft flush suffused her face as she said: 

^‘How good she must be to be willing to take me, a 
stranger, into her house. Believe me, I shall do everything 
I can to merit her kindness.” 

“Oh, that’s all right. It’s my house, and whatever I 
say, goes. So you can depend upon having a home there 
if you please me.” 

He was so anxious to have her bestow all her gratitude 
on him. He did not intend that his mother should share 


yS Mary Starkweather. 

it at all. His mother knew this precious son too well to 
interfere with any of his plans. He had no fear of her. 

Mrs. Multon suddenly felt a chill pass over her at his 
words; but rallying herself, she tried to think it just his 
peculiar way of expressing himself, and she said : 

‘^It’s very kind in you to take such an interest in me.” 

^^Of course I take an interest in you,” and again he 
approached her. She stepped back, and he said: “Don’t 
run away. I’m awfully interested in you, and I want to 
be good to you. You don’t think I’ve been coming here 
for days to see old Mrs. Dennis, do you? I saw you on 
the street several times, and was awfully struck by your 
appearance. At last, I followed you home. I was de- 
lighted when I found you were living in my house.' I came 
in that first day, hoping to see you; but you’ve kept out 
of my sight ever since. I think you are pretty, and I like 
you, and I want to be good 40 you. I came here to-day, 
determined to see you. If you had not come to the door, 
I would have stayed here until you made your appear- 
ance.” 

Mrs. Multon was gazing at him with staring eyes. 

“What is the use in our playing about the bush?” he 
went on. “You must see that I am interested in you. 
There’s no use in my masking my feelings any longer. 
You see, I want you where I can see more of you. We’ll 
find a place for that baby of yours, and 

“What do you mean?” cried the horrified woman. 

‘Why, there are plenty of homes for stray kids,” he 
laughed coarsely. “I can easily get them to take yours. 
Then you can come to us.” 

Mrs. Multon sank into a chair and hid her quivering 
face in her hands. 

“It isn’t every woman I would take into my house with 
my mother. You must see by that I think a lot of you. 


Sidney is Foiled Again. 79 

Surely, you must understand me,^^ and Sidney took a 
step nearer her. 

She darted from her chair, her face livid, and ex- 
claimed : 

‘^Yes, I do understand, that you are a devil — a fiend 
incarnate !” And turning, she fied into an inner room, 
closing the door after her. 

Sidney heard the key turn in the lock. For a minute, 
he was dumb. He saw that in his haste and impatience 
he had shown his hand too soon. Still he thought, “What 
is the difference? She is not so good that she need be 
scared.^^ That this humble creature dared show such in- 
dependence, nettled him exceedingly. “She is as proud 
as a queen. People in her position have no right to be 
proud."” It was ridiculous. He laughed to himself in a 
satirical, sneering manner. “What airs !” he thought. He 
took out his watch and glanced at it. “She’ll come back 
all right. I’ll give her five minutes to return.” 

He sat down to wait. It was not a pleasant occupa- 
tion. As the minutes flew by, he began to have some 
misgivings. He never had experienced anything of this 
sort before. 

Could her suffering awaken no responsive chord? Did 
no spark of chivalry dwell within his breast? Could he 
not see that tragedy, not shame, was written in her face? 
No, his heart was wholly unsusceptible to a single good 
impulse. He had depended so much on his physical ap- 
pearance and the worth of the reflected glitter of his gold. 
Women always had been ready to bow down to both. He 
had depended upon these same things to bring this woman 
into subjection. They had never failed before; they 
should not now. He would try what gold would do. 
“That,” he thought, “always makes an impression on this 


8o Mary Starkweather. 

kind of woman. The weight of my purse may have more 
eloquence than my speech.^^ 

Who would have dreamed, to look at him, that beneath 
the fair seeming, such evil thought could find lodgment? 
Happy it is for mankind that the eye rarely pierces be- 
neath the veil that conceals the hideous depravity of the 
heart of such a man. 

Ten minutes sped on, and Mrs. Multon did not appear. 
Finding some writing materials, on a little table in the 
room, he wrote the following letter: 

dear Girl: Don’t think me less friendly be- 
cause I talked plainly to you. I leave the enclosed, be- 
cause I am interested in you, and as an evidence of my good 
faith and intentions. I will return this afternoon when 
I hope to find you more reasonable.” 

There was no signature. He enclosed a twenty-dollar 
bill, addressed the envelope, and going to the door through 
which she had passed, he knocked once, twice, and re- 
ceiving no response, he called out: 

am going now, and I leave a note for you, which 
I shall slip under the door.” This he did, and left the 
house. But he was not in an enviable frame of mind, 
and as he strode away, he said: 

‘^She shall pay for this trouble when I once get her 
into my power. I will yet make you my humble servant, 
my lady, and you will come and go at my pleasure.” 

When Mrs. Multon fled to her room, she sank on the 
floor and buried .her face in her hands. ^Ht’s horrible, 
horrible !” she moaned. The solitude of her heart, at this 
moment, was fearful. She was so supremely wretched. 
Before this, she had not been altogether hopeless. Her 
money was nearly gone, and now, between herself and 


Sidney is foiled Again. 8i 

work, there seemed an insurmountable wall as high as 
heaven. She started up, and began pacing the floor. Her 
face was pale as death, her eyes set and staring. She 
seemed past tears, and yet she appeared hardly to have 
crossed the threshold of childhood. She had been made 
a woman prematurely. Her beautiful face, the proudly 
rounded features, the great sorrowful eyes beneath their 
black brows, the graceful flgure, and the refined manner 
contrasted strangely with her surroundings. The struggle 
in her soul was bitter; it was almost too much for human 
endurance. She was treading the wine-press alone. 

Suddenly a little cry reached her ears. A sharp sword 
seemed to pierce her heart, and going to her babe, she 
took it up in her arms, and frantically kissed it, moaning 
piteously : 

‘‘You are my only blessing and my misfortune!” she 
exclaimed in anguish. 

Just then Sidney rapped at the door. It seemed as if 
she would suffocate with fear. She stood trembling and 
irresolute, not knowing to what extreme he might go in 
his baseness. Then he spoke, and she saw the letter slipped 
under the door, and heard him leave the house. Passing 
into the other room, she locked the outside door. Then 
she opened the letter and read it. How her cheek burned 
with indignation! She went to the table and wrote: 

“I am poor, almostv starving ; but I would rather die 
than accept favors from you. Do not come near me. I 
will not see you. Bernice Multon.” 

She enclosed the money and addressed and sealed the 
envelope. 

Sidney called in the afternon. Mrs. Dennis opened the 
door. He asked for Mrs. Multon. Mrs. Dennis went 
to call her, and returned with the letter, saying: 


82 


Mary Starkweather. 

‘^She said you must excuse her, and asked me to give you 
this/^ The old woman looked puzzled. Mrs. Multon 
had told her nothing. 

Sidney took the letter and walked over to the window, 
standing with his back to Mrs. Dennis while he opened 
and read it. He thrust the money into his pocket and 
crushed the letter in his hand. '‘^Starve and be damned/^ 
he muttered. '^Who cares? I donT.^’ And turning on 
his heel he took up his hat and left the house without so 
much as noticing the old lady who was almost speechless 
with curiosity. 

With joy, Mrs. Multon heard Sidney leave the house. 
It had been a fearful day for her. She was almost crazed ; 
but she felt she must not yield, and, with the thought of 
her babe, she faithfully plied her needle on some work 
Mrs. Dennis had to do for Miss Starkweather. 

Sidney went away, his eyes burning with suppressed 
wrath and excitement. He exclaimed to himself: ^^Damn 
her! What does she mean by such airs?” 

He had frittered away much time in numberless flirta- 
tions. It had been a deliberate pastime with him to en- 
trap hearts that became worthless as soon as gained. He 
had never been obliged to waste money, nor to take much 
trouble in the pursuit. The game always had been so 
easy to capture. The covers in which he usually hunted, 
were in the circles of the society in which he moved. 
Sidney did not have to go to the slums to And victims; 
rather his business was to make victims for the slums. 

As he walked homeward, he determined to think no 
more about Mrs. Multon. He told himself again and 
again that he did not care for her; that she was common 
and beneath him. But it was of no use. He could not 
put her out of his mind. The poor, friendless, sufferinc^ 
woman, in her disdain of him, only had given him an ad- 


Sidney is Foiled Again. 83 

ditional incentive to pursue her. He lived over again his 
interview with her that morning. He remembered the 
changing color of her face as it lighted up with hope. It 
was useless to deny that she possessed an indescribable 
charm and force that, even in sorrow, revealed themselves 
in every look, in every motion, in every tone. All this 
came back to him, the beautiful hands, the girlish, child- 
like figure, the soft, satiny skin, the shining black hair; 
and set his blood on fire with desire. 

Before he reached home, he had mapped out a line of 
conduct. He concluded to change his tactics. He would 
write her a letter of apology for his impetuosity, and con- 
vince her that he had just been trying to test her. He 
would woo, he would lie, and if all these failed, he would 
use force. She should not escape him. 

Then began days of torture for Mrs. Multon. First, 
he sent a letter accompanied by a gift ; both were returned 
to him, the letter unopened. 

Sidney could always gain access to the old woman; 
so he thought he would work through her, and thus obtain 
another interview. But Mrs. Multon would not be en- 
trapped. At last, he learned through Mrs. Dennis, that 
her last cent was gone, and that she was dependent, even 
for her food, upon the old woman. He felt, now, that 
if he could force her, even from this wretched shelter and 
the assistance she received there, he would have her en- 
tirely at his mercy. He therefore told Mrs. Dennis that 
'he had sold the house, and that she must move out at once, 
for in a few days they would begin to tear it down. It 
was sad news for Mrs. Dennis, for it was difficult to 
find a place to live in, that was within her means ; and she 
ffiegan to feel very hard toward Mrs. Multon, who must be 
to blame for it in some way, she felt sure, 
i The next day Sidney learned, for the first time, that 


84 Mary Starkweather. 

Mary Starkweather had called at the little house several 
times, and had met and talked with Mrs. Multon. This 
alarmed him very much. She must not go to Mary with 
any tales, and so interfere with his arrangements there. 
Accordingly, he told Mrs. Dennis of the mortgage, and 
of how in a few days the Starkweathers would be home- 
less. 

It was on Friday that Sidney made his call. He 
told Mrs. Dennis that the men would begin pulling down 
the house the next day, and that she must move out at 
once. 

“I will send my mother to look after Mrs. Multon,” 
he said. "She will come in her carriage for her to-morrow. 
You can tell Mrs. Multon so. My mother is much in- 
terested in her.” 

He hoped Mrs. Multon heard him, and that she would 
give him no trouble. He felt, at last, that he was com- 
pelled to have the direct assistance of some one, and there 
was no one that he could trust in this affair like his pre- 
cious mother. He went out and sauntered around, mak- 
ing a pretence of looking at the house; but his real de- 
sire was to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Multon. What was 
his delight to see her sitting, with her babe in her arms, 
on a rude bench in the rear end of the lot, under the shade 
of an old apple-tree. She held her babe with one arm; 
the other was resting on the back of the bench, and she 
leaned her head listlessly and wearily on her hand. She 
looked so lonely and friendless. Who, save Sidney Banks, 
would not have shrunk from intruding upon this woman 
with his unscrupulous designs. Her very attitude of 
despair gave him pleasure. He went toward her, smil- 
ing like a fiend. It was exasperating to have to handle 
this woman with gloves, but he realized that at the very 
first familiar word, she would fly from him. He deter- 


Sidney is Foiled Again. 85 

mined to be patient and ingratiate himself into her con- 
fidence. 

He was some distance from her, when she looked up 
and saw him. She flushed and started to rise, then sank 
back on the seat, and awaited his approach. Her waiting 
for him spoke volumes to Sidney, and he thought, ^^She 
is beginning to weaken.” He came up close to her, and 
stood with his hat in his hand. He spoke to her. She 
took not the slightest notice of him. All this was a jar 
to his vanity. For a minute, he grew hard and fierce. 
Then, realizing that if he would conquer he must resort to 
artifice, he seated himself on the bench near her, and 
leaning forward, poured out all he had written in his 
letter that she had not read, and much more — how he 
had told his mother about her, how deeply interested 
she was, and would give herself and babe a home. He 
apologized most humbly for his conduct. 

The woman sat as if congealed to ice. He made a 
point of telling her all about the Starkweathers’ financial 
troubles. He could see enough of her face to know that 
she was listening intently to his revelation of their affairs, 
and he noted the look of disappointment and anguish 
that swept over her face. “Aha !” he thought, “I have 
forestalled a move in that direction.” Then he told her 
that the cottage must be vacated the next day, that his 
mother would come for her on the morrow, and bring 
her and her babe to her house, where she would remain 
as long as she liked. 

He waited for her reply. But she was silent, tearless, 
and neither moved nor spoke. 

This was very exasperating, but he controlled himself 
with the thought that she was having her day, and that 
his was to come. He arose, and holding out his hand, 
said: 


86 


Mary Starkweather. 

you not give me your hand in token of forgive- 
ness? If you knew the warmth and tenderness of my 
regard for you, you would not refuse.” 

A shudder seemed to pass over Mrs. Multon. She hid 
her face in her arm to conceal her expression, and still 
remained silent. Sidney thought she was weeping. He 
felt that at last she was conquered. Her rebellion was 
gone. A little forbearance and gentleness, and he would 
have her where he wanted her. He could afford to wait. 
And concentrating as much feeling in his voice as pos- 
sible, he said, with apparent consideration: 

"Well, I won’t insist upon it; but the time will come 
when you will confess I am your best friend. I can afford 
to wait, and now I will go, and you can look for my mother 
to-morrow. Good-by.” 

Mrs. Multon sat for full ten minutes in the attitude 
in which Sidney had left her. Then, raising her head, 
and stifling a hard, dry sob, she exclaimed in bitterest an- 
guish: "Oh, God of my mother, forsake me not! Lead 
me, lead me, where I may find rest and protection.” 

Then she arose and went into the house. 

When Sidney’s mother came for her the next morning 
she was gone. 


The Homecoming of Charles Thornton. 87 


CHAPTEK VI. 

THE HOMECOMING OF CHARLES THORNTON. 

While Sidney was so persistently pursuing Mrs. Multon, 
he had not neglected nor lost sight of affairs connected 
with Mabelthorp. For weeks he had seen Mary driving 
in and ont of Clinton almost every day. She went every- 
where. She was to be seen at all important functions, 
and she seemed to be radiantly happy. She remained true 
to her resolve to overcome her dislike to Sidney, and made 
a special point of speaking to him whenever they met, and 
of talking to him, if only for a few minutes. She had 
danced with him several times, and out of sheer polite- 
ness, she and her father had been forced to take him in 
their carriage for a short distance, on two or three oc- 
casions. What an effort all this had cost Mary, no 
one but herself knew. Strive as she would, there was 
ever that awful repugnance to him. She was so sensi- 
tive to influences, that, coming upon him suddenly, would, 
at times, make her sick, and she would think to herself: 

know when I meet that man just how one must feel 
at coming suddenly upon one of those deadly cobras in 
India.’’ 

But the more she felt this, the more she strove to 


88 


Mary Starkweather. 

overcome it and to obtain the mastery of her feelings. 
In this effort she was so far snccessfnk outwardly, that 
she completely deceived Sidney. Not that this was diffi- 
cult to do where this young pachyderm roue was personally 
concerned. He seemed to have no intuitive faculties. He 
could perceive nothing without analysis, and as he had no 
aids to analysis, except his ear and eye, both of which were 
attuned to the material, it can readily be discerned how 
very easy it was for him to deceive himself. 

Things were approaching a crisis at Mabelthorp, and 
Sidney began to feel anxious. Not a move did the gen- 
eral make but that one of Sidney’s detectives knew and 
reported it. 

It was at this juncture that Mary attended a party one 
night, where she had danced with Sidney, and he was 
leading her to a seat, when, passing near a group of chat- 
tering dancers, she distinctly heard some one say: 

^‘Oh, I guess it’s a match all right. Isn’t she beauti- 
ful and distinguished? — and he so rich and handsome!” 

She heard no more. For a moment, her heart stood 
still. She felt as if she had received a deadly insult. 
That any one could ever associate her with Sidney Banks 
seemed utterly incredible. She was hot with indignation, 
and she felt that every drop of blood in her body had 
surged to her face, neck and arms. She wondered if he 
had heard it, and hoped he had not. Just then, she saw 
her father coming toward her. It struck her that he 
looked dreadfully worn and tired. She had noticed the 
same look on his face in the afternoon, as he stood before 
her mother’s portrait. This thought flitted through her 
mind only for an instant, and, as she approached him, 
she said: 

was looking for you, papa, for I am tired and want 
to go home.” Then, turning to Sidney, she hastily bade 


The Homecoming of Charles Thornton. 89 

him good-night, hardly giving him a glance, and she and 
her father were soon in the carriage, where Mary hysteri- 
cally burst into tears, and burying her face in her father’s 
shoulder, and with both his arms around her, she exclaimed : 
‘‘I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it !” 

The general was amazed and bewildered to find his 
daughter in such a nervous condition. She was not given 
to tears, and it was some time before he could quiet her, 
and draw from her the cause of her agitation. And there 
came back to him the triumphant, exultant look which 
Sidney had worn as he approached him with Mary after 
the dance. He realized, now, the effort his daughter 
had been making to overcome her dislike for Sidney. 
But at this moment the general was far more exercised 
about his financial affairs than about anything concerning 
Sidney Banks, and comforting his daughter, as best he 
could, he urged her, on reaching home, to retire at once, 
and forget all about it. 

When General Starkweather had given the mortgage on 
Mabelthorp, it had been for the period of eighteen months. 
Through a friend he had made some investments in the 
West, and from these, together with his regular income, 
he had expected to be able to take up the mortgage when 
it was due. But owing to the financial crisis, his invest- 
ments, instead of proving a source of revenue, had been 
a burden and an expense. While this was unfortunate 
and annoying, it gave him no special anxiety, as he knew 
! that with the passing of the panic he would be able to 
adjust matters. Therefore, the only thing to do was to 
extend the mortgage. It never occurred to him that there 
would be any difficulty in doing so, as it was Mr. Sol- 
mon’s business to lend money, and so long as his interest 
was paid, he supposed, there would be no difficulty to en- 
counter. 


90 


Mary Starkweather. 

What was his surprise, when he called upon Solmon, 
to have him positively and flatly refuse to renew the mort- 
gage, giving various excuses for not doing so. This was 
but a few days before the mortgage was due. While the 
general knew that it could not be foreclosed without a 
regular process of law that would consume about a month, 
still he had a vague sense of alarm. He at once made an 
effort to And some one to take up the mortgage. He found 
a broker who assured the general that while he did not 
have the money just then, he would have it in ample time 
to save the property, and that he need have no anxiety. 
But General Starkweather, thinking it just as well to be 
on the safe side, found another broker, who said a large 
sum of money would be due him in three weeks, and in 
case the first party the general had seen could not take 
up the mortgage, he would do so. 

How, these two men had been doing business for years 
in Clinton, and while the general did not know either of 
them personally, he knew them by reputation, and sup- 
posed they were honest business men. They were, in 
fact, nothing more or less than tools of Sidney Banks, just 
as they had been tools of Sidney’s father, who for years 
had loaned large sums of money at exorbitant interest, 
through them. 

One can easily see that the intention was to hold the 
general i'n expectation until the last minute possible, so 
that he would have no time to obtain the money else- 
where. 

When the general, expecting to have one or the other 
of these brokers take up the mortgage, went to them, he 
found that neither one of them could do so, assigning as 
a reason that they, so far, had been disappointed in money 
due them, but still holding out the hope that they would 
have it in time. He did not wait for them, however, but 


The Homecoming of Charles Thornton. 91 

went to New York, where lie finally found a broker who 
assured the general that he could depend upon him. But 
the next day the man telegraphed he could do nothing in 
the matter, the truth being that one of Bank’s men had 
seen him and made it an object for him to break his prom- 
ise. 

Thus, everywhere the general turned, he met disappoint- 
ment. He had been truly exercised and annoyed by it all, 
but he had not been very much alarmed. For he was so con- 
fident that the matter could be arranged. Suddenly, the 
terrible fact stared him in the face that his home might 
be swept from him. He knew Solmon was hard and cold. 
He could expect no mercy from him. What to do he did 
not know. He felt he must tell Mary, but how could 
he? 

Mary was engaged to be married. When she was in 
Europe she renewed her acquaintance with Charles Thorn- 
ton, who was then connected with the American Legation 
in London. She had known him all her life, and they 
had long been attached to each other. Soon after their 
meeting in London^ they became engaged, and the mar- 
riage was to take place immediately after Mr. Thorn- 
ton’s return to America. And now Mary was expecting 
him on the next steamer. 

Young Mr. Thornton was the son of a clergyman, and 
he was not rich. It was a true love match. It was this 
great love that had been playing on Mary’s heart-strings, 
drawing forth the sweetest harmony of her soul. Ah! 
she had been so busy, so happy, so joyous, that her father 
felt he could not tell her yet. He would wait another day. 
Perhaps something would happen to ward off this blow. 
Although he had urged her to go to bed and sleep, he, 
himself, could not sleep; his mind was tortured, and he 


92 Mary Starkweather. 

kept thinking how he could best break the news to his 
daughter. 

Mary had gone to her room, but her nerves were all 
unstrung, and she could not rest. The air seemed op- 
pressive. Donning a negligee robe, and dismissing her 
maid, she threw herself in a chair by the window. She was 
alone with her thoughts. It seemed, all of a sudden, as 
if some terrible darkness had come over the world. She 
had a sense of poignant loneliness in her heart, for which 
she could not account. Then she remembered the care- 
worn look on her father’s face. She listened. She was 
sure she could hear him moving about in his room. What 
could be troubling him? Could it be he objected to her 
marriage and dreaded losing her? No, that could not 
be, for she did not intend to leave him, and already he 
talked about Charles as if he were his son. Then what was 
it? Sidney, Charles, her father, were all mixed up in a 
whirl in her mind. 

If Mary, in her pure heart, could have hated any one, 
she would have hated Sidney Banks, for she felt that he 
was the cause of the bitter drops in her cup of happi- 
ness. He had always been distasteful to her, but she had 
tried to be tolerant of this man, and her actions had been 
misconstrued. She had been so loyal to Charles, and she 
felt it was an insult to him as well as to herself. How- 
ever, to-morrow or the next day he would be with her. 
Then the engagement would be announced, and that would 
put an end to all stupid gossip. 

But what could be the matter with her father? It 
was something serious she was sure; she could feel it. 
There never had been any secrets between them ; there must 
not be now. To-morrow she would know; he must tell 
her all. ‘^Dear, dear papa ! He has been father and mother 
• to me!” 


j The Homecoming of Charles Thornton. 93 

I Her sensitive nature had been rudely .shaken, and she 
i now felt the necessity of controlling herself. If any- 
thing were troubling her father, she must be strong and 
comfort him — not harass him. 

j With this last thought, she threw herself on the bed, 
and slept until dawn. Making a hasty toilet, she went 
down to the dining-room to await her father. When he 
appeared, she greeted him with a bright smile, and led 
him to the table, where she chatted in her accustomed 
and cheerful manner. 

I How Mary loved her father! His pale face made her 
i heart ache. 

i After breakfast^ the general took his paper, and going 
! out on the lawn, he sat down on a rustic seat. Mary, 
j watching him, saw that while his eyes were resting on 
I the paper, he was not reading, and going up behind him, 

I she twined her arms about his neck,’ and said coaxingly ; 

I ^Tapa, dear, what is the matter?” 

I Her father took one of the little hands, and kissing it, 

I answered: 

j ^^Nothing, daughter, I 

i But he got no further, for Mary, placing her hand on 
; j his lips, said, with her pretty, imperious air : 
j| '^Now, now, now — no stories, papa dear. I have been 
i; watching you, and something is troubling you. Now, I 
^ J have come out here to find out what it is, and I don^t in- 
! 1 tend to go until you tell me.” 

She slipped into the seat by his side and laid her head 
I on his shoulder, with her arm thrown lightly about his 
I neck. Her loose sleeves had fallen back, and the general 
I i sat still for some moments, stroking the pretty arm that 
iwas as white as ivory, and caressing the beautiful head. 

I ! But he could not speak. 

1 Presently, Mary lifted her head and looked at him. 

i ' 


94 Mary Starkweather. 

Great tears were streaming down his cheeks, and she saw 
the expression he could not disguise. 

^^Why, papa ! wha is the matter questioned Mary, now 
thoroughly alarmed. ^“^Tell me at once. I cannot endure 
this suspense. Surely, it is not right that you should 
have any sorrow, and keep it from me.” 

The general drew her to him, and kissing her tenderly, 
said: ^^How can I tell you! How can I bring sorrow 
upon you, my daughter ?” 

Mary gazed at her father in utter amazement. What 
could it mean ? It must be something dreadful if it could 
affect her self-contained father like this. This was no 
ordinary trouble. She was completely bewildered. She 
arose and walked away a little distance, then returned, 
and sitting down by her father’s side, took his hand, and 
said: 

^Tapa, you should keep nothing from me that troubles 
you. I can bear anything. I am young and strong. There 
is but one thing I think I could not bear, and that is to 
lose you. While I have you, all else is secondary. How, 
tell me everything. See, I am composed, and can hear 
what it is.” 

What an effort it required on the part of the general, 
to tell her ! Mary felt that it was no common trouble, and I 
had braced herself to hear the worst. But her look of 
astonishment and surprise deepened, as he went on. At^ 
first she was appalled, as her mind gradually took in the 
significance of the situation; but she well knew that her 
father had suffered in keeping this to himself for so long, 
and she felt what an awful calamity it was to him. She 
knew he was suffering agonies on her account, and she de- 
termined then and there, that she would be brave and not 
add to his already terrible burden. At last, the gen- 
eral had told her all, and sat silent, waiting for her to speak. 


The Homecoming of Charles Thornton. 95 

She twined her arms about his neck, and putting her 
cheek against his, said : 

' ^^And you have been carrying this burden for over a 
iyear, and did not tell me, that I might have borne it with 
jyou. I almost think you have been cruel to me. 
Did you suppose I was so weak: that I could not 
help you bear your trouble? I have you, and you have 
me. It might be worse.^^ 

■ Her father was too deeply moved to speak. This darling 
I girl! Never had she been so dear. To be deprived of 
! Mabelthorp I He could not think what existence away 
jfrom Mabelthorp would mean. He neither had known 
nor had dreamed of any other home. Still he thought 
that he, but not Mary, could endure the loss. 

Finally, they both talked it over together, the general 
i telling Mary of the many places he had gone to try to 
‘ obtain the money, and other facts in regard to this trou- 
ble. 

When it came to finance, the general was not much 
' more of an adept than his daughter. 

: At last, Mary, rising, said, as she kissed her father 

' affectionately: am going to my room to think. You 

i do the same. Perhaps we may see our way out of this 
^ yet/’ and entering the house, she went directly to her 
room. 

She shut and locked the door. Thus shut in alone, 
she walked up and down the room. Leave Mabelthorp! 
Mabelthorp pass into the hands of strangers! Yet, what 
was to be done? Her father had told her how every one 
to whom he had applied had disappointed him, how so 
many of his friends who might aid him were either tied 
up through the late financial troubles, or were absent from 
the city. Two of his wealthiest and most devoted friends 
were traveling in Europe. 


96 Mary Starkweather. 

Mary was so crushed by the blow that it seemed im- 
possible for her to think. She threw herself in a chair, 
and sat staring blankly before her. Suddenly she saw, 
in her mind, the words as if written in fire: ^‘All 
things are possible to him that believeth.” ^‘Whatsoever 
ye shall ask in my name, that will I do.” “According to 
your faith ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall 
make yon free.” “No good thing shall be withheld from 
them that walk uprightly.” 

Suddenly the awful burden seemed to slip away, and 
she exclaimed with glowing cheeks : “How could I forget 
His promises? I know they are true, and that He will 
redeem every one of them. She concentrated her thoughts 
for a few moments, drinlfing in the deep significance of 
these promises ; then, springing up, she went down to find 
her father. 

He was on the lawn, and had just been telling the 
servants of the impending calamity so that they might 
be prepared for the worst,. Mary could see how shocked 
and grieved they were. They were not like ordinary 
servants. They all felt that Mabelthorp was home to them, 
and they took as much interest and pride in the place as 
if it belonged to them. 

Mary went into the library, and waited for her father. 
He soon came in, and it seemed to her that he had aged 
in the last hour. She went forward to meet him, and said, 
with a bright, happy laugh, and a radiant face : 

“Now, papa, you must come right here and sit down 
and stop worrying. Fretting won’t do any good. On the 
contrary, it will do a lot of harm. If you look like that, 
you will frighten away all the good fairies.” 

All this she said playfully, and taking his hat and toss- 
ing it on the table, she pushed him into a big, comfor- 
table chair, and sat do^vn on the arm of it. She began 


The Homecoming of Charles Thornton. 97 

running her fingers through his hair and pushing back 
the damp, gray curls from his forehead. He rested his 
head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. 

One of Mary’s greatest fascinations was her low, sweet 
voice, every note of which was perfect melody. This 
she inherited from her mother, and, as she spoke to him 
now, he was thrilled with the sound of it. It brought back 
the wife he loved^ and Mary looked so like her mother who 
had been beautiful and fascinating. And this precious 
daughter ! He loved her so, she was so wound around 
his heart that seemed breaking with trouble. He opened 
liis eyes and looked at her. She was gazing at him ador- 
ingly. He clasped her hand in his, and said with quivering 
lips: 

‘Ht is good in you, my daughter, to make this great 
effort on my account. I appreciate it. I feared you would 
not have the strength to bear it.” 

‘^Of course I can bear anything with you, papa. But 
what cheers and comforts me is this: The Bible plainly 
says, That no good thing shall be withheld from them that 
walk uprightly.’ Now, that is one of His promises. We 
came by this property honestly. It was taken directly, 
as it were, a gift from God. It was not obtained through 
usury. When our ancestors took it, it was just as God 
had made it and pronounced it good. It was purchased 
by a draft on nature. There is no stain of sweat nor 
blood upon it, and you have always walked uprightly. 
Then, if we ask to keep our own, and believe in Him, 
shall we not retain our home? I know we shall. I am 
not going to worry. We will do all w^e can, and then leave 
the result in His hands. So, papa, dear, cheer up. Be- 
lieve me, all will yet go well.” And Mary began to bustle 
about the room in a cheery manner, and catching up her 
hat, she said, as she kissed him: am going now, to 


98 Mary Starkweather. 

cut some fresh rose for the vases/^ and humming a little 
tune, she vanished from his sight. 

The general sat, where his daughter had left him, lost 
in thought. It was the first time he had ever heard her 
express herself from a religious standpoint, and he was 
very much surprised. The atmosphere of Mabelthorp was 
reverential and religious; but there was nothing compul- 
sory in it. Mary had been confirmed and gone to church 
all her life; but even when there were hot religious con- 
troversies among the guests of Mabelthorp^ which often 
happened, as its doors were always open to all sects, Mary 
never took part in them, although she listened with ap- 
parent interest. She was always willing to express her' 
opinion on almost any other subject, but she never talked 
on religion. The wonder of the general deepened as he 
thought of it. Had something new come over her? She 
had not stayed to discuss the matter, but, asserting her 
convictions, she fled, as if nothing more could be said on 
the subject. Her assertion that she should leave the re- 
sult in God’s hands, urging her father to do likewise, was 
childlike. It was so sincere and trusting. It was said 
as confidently as if she had come to him and said : ^‘Here 
is an apple higher up on this tree than I can reach. You 
can reach it. Give it to me,” knowing he would do so. 

His daughter’s implicit trust in the Great Unknown 
was something new to him. It was very beautiful, but 
childlike. As this last thought came into his mind, 
another followed: ^^Unless you become as a little child 


He got no further in the quotation, for his thought 
went hack to his daughter. ‘^Yes, she has become as a 
little child,” he murmured, and all day long, and for 
days afterward, there was that measured beat and repe- 
tition in his mind — ‘‘Unless you become as a little child — 




The Homecoming of Charles Thornton. 99 

Unless you become as a little child.” He could not put 
it away from him. 

It was on Thursday that he had this conversation with 
Mary, and at noon, on the same day, a telegram came, 
saying that Charles had just reached New York^ and would 
be at Mabelthorp that evening. 

The noon mail also had arrived, and Mary saw, by 
the look on her father’s face, that he had received addi- 
tional disappointments. But while her heart ached for 
him, she positively had no fear. She had no hope, what- 
ever, that Charles would be able to help them, for she knew 
that he had comparatively nothing, and in marrying him, 
she was trusting entirely to his energy for the future. 
Since the death of Hugh, it had b^n the intention that 
they — Mary and Charles — should remain with her father 
at Mabelthorp, and Charles intended establishing himself 
in his profession in Clinton. Therefore, at the present 
moment, there was no one to whom they could look for 
assistance. And yet she felt sure it would come. 

The hour approached when the arrival of Charles at 
Mabelthorp was expected, and she felt that she could 
not have this first night of his home-coming marred by 
business troubles. Her father had hinted that the wed- 
ding they had planned, and which was to take place at 
Mabelthorp, with great festivities, would now have to be 
postponed. Mary said nothing, but she felt confident that 
all would be well. 

Going up to her father, who was pacing up and down 
the room, she slipped her hand into his arm and walked 
with him, and they chatted about the home-coming of 
Charles. The general read what was in his daughter’s 
mind, and he said : 

‘'"We will say nothing of our troubles to him to-night. 


LofC. 


loo Mary Starkweather. 

To-morrow we will talk it over, and consult him as to 
what is the best course to pursue.” 

Mary held up her face for a kiss; then she went out 
to find the housekeeper to give her some directions about 
dinner. Every eye she met showed traces of weeping, 
but she appeared to take no notice of it. She was so 
bright and cheerful that the servants caught the inspira- 
tion. They felt she must be making a great effort to be 
so cheery. Never had she been so dear to all of them as 
at this moment, and they determined, one and all, to do 
their best. 

Mary walked back through the great wide hall out on 
the veranda. Every corner in the house, every spot on the 
grounds, had its association, and suggested the past. 

Many of these old houses become solemn and ghostly 
with the passing of the years. Not so with Mabelthorp. 
There were no shadows nor dark corners about it, no 
haunted chambers with creepy stories. Everything was 
sunshine within as well as without. Every servant un- 
derstood the unwritten law of the old manor-house, and 
put out a hand to help the unfortunate. Daily it was 
demonstrated that, although high in the social scale, the 
owners of Mabelthorp had not lived in vain. 

Mary stood gazing over the lawn to the river and hills 
beyond. Never had the view seemed so entrancingly beau- 
tiful. Never had Mabelthorp been so dear to her as at 
this moment. How perfect the day, how sweet the air! 
The birds were having an opera, the clouds were sailing 
lazily, the leaves on the trees were waving and whispering 
in the sleepy breeze. It was perfect — just such a day as 
she would have chosen for the home-coming of her beloved. 
How often she, Charles and Hugh had wandered about 
the old grounds. He knew the place so well. “It will 
be a home-coming for him^ indeed,” thought she. 


The Homecoming of Charles Thornton. loi 

She went into the library, and sinking into a large, 
easy chair, was soon lost in a reverie. It almost seemed 
to her that she could hear the laughter and gayety of those 
now long gone to rest. She had been told and had read 
of the festivities in this old house, when the very air was 
laden with laughter, when all wore their finest and looked 
their best. There had been toasts to the bravery of the 
men and to the beauty of the women. The house had 
blazed with light, and music had poured forth to the beat 
of merry feet. 

The brasses of the fireplaces and the great,, brass door- 
knobs were the original ones, as were the massive ma- 
hogany tables. A tall, oriental cabinet of unique work- 
manship, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, that stood at the 
further end of the room^ was packed with treasures. 

Mary arose, and going over to it, she pulled open one 
of the drawers. It was filled with dainty linen, beauti- 
fully marked by fingers, long mouldered to dust. Some of 
these pieces were heirlooms of generations. She closed 
the drawer and opened another, and lifted from it a 
pair of dainty satin slippers, yellow with age. They had 
belonged to handsome, gay, rollicking, laughing Bollie 
Adams. There was a handkerchief marked Martha Cur- 
tis, also a riding-glove of Washington’s, and a spur of 
Lafayette’s. She replaced them. No use to look fur- 
ther; the cabinet was full, and she knew by heart the 
history of each thing in it. She passed into the picture- 
gallery. There were fine portraits of high-stepping dames 
and of ancestors with wondrous white wigs, velvet coats 
and silk stockings, and gold knee-buckles. One by one, 
they had gone to rest, each leaving his imprint on his 
country and his home. But, loveliest among the lovely, 
was Mary’s mother. When she had come to Mabelthorp, 
her beauty was the theme of every admiring tongue. She 


102 Mary Starkweather. 

was brought from Virginia by this tall, dignified, scholarly 
man. General Starkweather, whom she adored. Tall, ma- 
jestic, queenly, her every movement perfect grace; she 
was of good lineage, and her proud blood burned in her 
cheek and eye. She was without a rival, a peerless beauty. 
Adulation spoiled her not. Years rolled on. Three times 
had the young bride become a mother, and the roses were 
still deep on her cheek when she passed away. 

On a table, under this portrait, fresh flowers always 
bloomed. Now, a great pot of red azalias scattered their 
petals on the floor. Mary had not been so young as to be 
unconscious of her loss, when her mother passed away, 
and her eyes were blinded with tears as she turned from 
the portrait. 

The general had returned with Charles, whom he had 
gone to meet, and they alighted from the carriage at the 
gateway, and walked up the drive to the house. TEe 
young man was about six feet tall, and straight as a pop- 
lar. He had brown hair and deep blue eyes. It was 
plain to see that he was possessed of the best American 
manhood. He looked, so to speak, as one “dyed in the 
wool.^’ He was physically strong. His whole manner 
was full of daring and power, and to look at him was to 
feel safe to predict that somehow, somewhere, this young 
man would make himself heard. He was twenty-six years 
old. He was large-hearted, loyal and true. His sunny 
heart pulsated in his finger-tips when he clasped one’s 
hand. 

Mary saw them coming, and went out on the veranda 
to meet them. She was already famed for her beauty, 
and now, she was surpassingly lovely. The wind was in 
her gold-tinted hair, and swept her light, airy costume 
until a faint tracing of the outline of her limbs could 
be seen, Charles sprang up the steps, Her pure face, 


The Homecoming of Charles Thornton. 103 

exquisite as a rare piece of china, was lifted toward him. 
A happy light shone from her eyes. He caught her in 
his arms, holding her in a close embrace as if he would 
never let her go. A silent moment, and then he mur- 
mured: ^^My love, my love!’^ and stooped and kissed 
her. In all her life, Mary never forgot that meeting. 
The general looked at them until his eyes were blinded 
with tears. Then he turned and walked away. 

Mary led Charles into the house. How happy he was! 
All the servants knew him, and one and all came troop- 
ing in to clasp his hand and welcome him home. Charles 
had a kind word and a gift for each one. Hot one had 
been forgotten. Even with the impending doom hanging 
over Mabelthorp it was a joyful time. The general almost 
forgot his sorrow in the happy faces and glad laughter 
of his children. It almost seemed as if Hugh had come 
back to life again. 

Mabelthorp was an ideal resort for lovers. Twilight 
was just coming on when Mary and Charles started for a 
stroll about the grounds. They wended their way to their 
favorite spot — a little glen through which flowed a dimin- 
utive stream that rested its head in a gorge, where a 
number of crystal springs gushed forth, and from which 
it drew its life. Down through the glen it went until 
it reached less confined surroundings. Then it sprawled 
over its pebbly bed until it lost itself in the river. The 
glen was perfectly wild. An exquisite taste had left it 
just as Nature had made it, and it was here the winter 
frowned lightly, and the south wind wafted its most re- 
freshing breezes. The turf was thick and soft, the banks 
were fringed with long, feathery grasses and ferns, and 
crowded with wild-flowers. The place was shaded by tall 
shrubs, birch and alder trees, and was full of fragrance 
and romance. It was a little paradise. Eustic seats were 


104 Mary Starkweather. 

in the shadiest and coolest spots. It was a favorite resort 
for lovers and students, young or old. 

Mary and Charles had wandered from nook to nook in 
this enchanting spot. The silvery moon had risen. They 
had talked much, and now they were silent. They were 
standing on a little rustic bridge that spanned the pebbly 
brook, and were listening to the murmur of the water. 
The flower-laden air, the silence, the spiritual beauty of 
his loved one, all seemed so perfect to Charles. The out- 
side world, the roar of London, were so far away. He 
felt that this meeting with Mary was the most precious 
episode of his life. He loved her so, and he had looked 
forward with joy to the fast approaching time when they 
would be forever united. 

“My adored one,” he murmured, as he bent down and 
kissed her, “how I have longed to be here, and now, it 
seems as if it must be a dream too beautiful to last. I 
feel that my happiness is complete, as if I had a fore- 
taste of heaven.” Again he stooped and kissed her. 

Mary felt his love and was silent. How his kisses 
electrified her ! What rapture was hidden in the tones of 
his voice and in the pressure of his arms as her head 
nestled on his breast. She loved him so. She trusted 
him so. She felt his honor and truth. His fervent love 
thrilled her to her finger-tips, and she seemed to melt into 
an ecstasy of rapture in his arms. 


Telling Charles of the Mortgage. ro5 


CHAPTEE VII. 

THE GENERAL TELLS CHARLES OF THE MORTGAGE. 

The next morning, after breakfast. General Starkweather 
took Charles to the library, and there revealed to him 
the true state of his affairs. Charles was more than as- 
tonished at the disclosure. That the general could be 
financially embarrassed had never occurred to him. To 
be just to Charles, he never thought of how their loss 
might affect him. He thought only of Mary and her 
father, and of what life would be to both of them if 
deprived of Mabelthorp. When the general suggested 
that the wedding would have to be postponed, for the 
time being, his heart throbbed triumphantly as he thought 
of his strength, and felt in his inmost soul that he could 
strive gallantly for the woman he loved, and for those 
she loved. He really felt a thrill of joy that to him would 
be given the task of providing a home for her. In the 
glow of his joy he was conscious, as never before, that his 
nerves were as steel, the muscles of his hands as iron, 
and that he could go out into the world and battle for 
his love, as did the warrior knights of old. Something of 
this he told the general, who, rising, clasped his hand^ and 
said with much feeling : 


io6 Mary Starkweather. 

now feel I have a son indeed. As to the wed- 
ding, that will be an after consideration.^’ 

'^Yes; now we must think if there is not some way to 
extricate you from this dilemma/’ replied Charles, spring- 
ing up. ^‘But only think ! To-morrow is the last day of 
grace — only twenty-four hours. I feel there is no time 
to lose, yet I don’t know which way to turn.” 

Charles had been gone from America for three years, 
and he knew of but two persons that under any circum- 
stances could pay the amount of money required, on short 
notice like this. One of these was a very rich maiden 
aunt; the other was a wealthy Californian, who had just 
returned from abroad on the same ship with Charles, and 
who did not know what he would do until after reading 
his mail awaiting him in New York. Therefore, it was 
uncertain whether he was yet in New York, or whether 
he had left for the West. Charles’s aunt was out of the 
question, as she was cruising with friends in the Mediter- 
ranean. 

He determined to go to New York at once, and endeavor 
to find his Californian friend. In the meantime, he ad- 
vised the general to appeal to Solmon for a week’s ex- 
tension of time. He was so earnest, so strong, that ho 
inspired General Starkweather with hope. The thought 
of appealing to Solmon had not occurred to the general, 
and he decided to follow that suggestion at once. 

They soon hurried away, the younger man to the city, 
and the older to see what could be done with Solmon. 

Mary came out on the veranda to bid them good-by, 
her face sunny as usual. She kissed her father, then 
turned to Charles. How strong he seemed as he took her 
in his arms, and kissing her, said tenderly: 

^^Nothing can crush the life out of our love, dear. Be 


Telling Charles of the Mortgage. 107 

of good cheer. If the worst comes to the worst, we three 
have one another.’^ 

am not afraid. With you two I have no fear,” was 
all she said as she returned his caress. 

But the filial love he already gave her father touched 
her deeply, and brought the tears streaming from her 
eyes as she watched them drive away. 

Her father did not return until late in the afternoon. 
He had waited all day to see Solmon, who was out of 
town, and had failed, even then, to meet him. He now 
had no hope from either of his brokers. Late in the even- 
ing a telegram came from Charles. He had not found 
his friend, and he would not be down to Mabelthorp until 
morning. 

That night Charles wrote a long letter to Mary, know- 
ing it would reach her by eight o^’clock the next morning. 
In it he told her he would not be at Mabelthorp until ten 
o^clock the next day. He wrote ever3rthing he could to 
arouse her to a sense of the situation, at the same time 
assuring her of his undying devotion and of the best ener- 
gies of his life for her. He was dreadfully worried. He 
did not fear work, and he felt he could die for the woman 
he loved; but it was impossible for him to give her such 
a home as Mabelthorp. He felt she did not appreciate 
the situation, and would not until everything was gone. 
Then he feared the reaction. She seemed so calm, so 
tranquil. She had been so happy the night before that 
had it not been for the assurance of her father, he could 
not have believed she was aware of the impending calam- 
ity. 

We will now ask the reader to go back with us to the 
night of the party in Clinton. 

Sidney had heard the remarks of the gossips; looking 


io8 Mary Starkweather. 

down at Mary, he had seen from her rising color that she, 
too, had heard them. He had felt her hand tremble on 
his arm and had seen her embarrassment as she bade 
him good-night. It only confirmed him in his belief 
that Mary was in love with him. Besides, he had no- 
ticed, when they were dancing, how all eyes were turned 
admiringly upon them. After Mary had gone, several 
persons had joked him about her, and had laughingly 
asked, ^‘When is it to be?” 

He felt exultant that others should notice Mary’s man- 
ner as well as himself. He had hoped, day by day, that 
the general would apply to him for assistance. It would 
have been so easy, then, for him to ask for Mary’s hand. 
He could not understand it, but concluded, knowing the 
pride of the Starkweathers, that the remembrance of the 
episode of three years previous, was the cause of the 
present hesitancy. 

Through his spies, he learned that Charles Thornton 
had returned from abroad, and was at Mabelthorp. How- 
ever, that did not trouble him, for he happened to know 
that young Thornton had no money. Nevertheless, when 
Charles went to New York, he was under espionage. 

Sidney was so sure of the success of all his schemes, 
that already he had begun to plan many changes and 
improvements in Mabelthorp. He had worked so slowly, 
so carefully, he felt sure he could not fail. He had had 
Mary so strictly watched, and he knew that of all her 
admirers he was the only one that could call a blush to 
her cheek, or make her tremble. Very soon he would be 
master of Mabelthorp, and' in a position to launch himself 
politically. He cared for Mary simply for her influence, 
and only for the hour, just as he cared for Mrs. Multon. 
Had it been in his power, he would have turned Mabel- 
thorp into a harem. 


Telling Charles of the Mortgage. 109 

When Saturday morning arrived, his plans were com- 
plete. He dressed himself with the greatest care. IHs 
mother was to go after Mrs. Multon and bring her home. 
He had given her the most minute instructions how to 
manage the whole affair, and he felt it quite safe to leave 
Mrs. Multon in her hands. He would go to Mabelthorp 
and arrange matters there. He had the checks all made 
out for the general. 

He ate his breakfast in a wonderfully complacent mood. 
His spies all had reported the night before, that all was 
well — all ^^going his way !” He saw his mother off on her 
errand, and was sitting, waiting for the light buggy to 
be brought around in which he intended driving to Mabel- 
thorp. He took up the New York Herald. What was it 
that suddenly riveted his eyes to the paper, and made him 
sick and faint and deadly pale? 

Again the morning paper had been the messenger that 
blasted his hopes. It contained the announcement of the 
betrothal of Mary and Charles, and also stated that the 
wedding would follow within the month. It would take 
place at Mabelthorp, and it was to be celebrated in a 
brilliant manner. There were fine pictures of Mary and 
Charles, with a long account of the beauty and accom- 
plishments of the prospective bride, and a eulogy on the 
nobleness, the honor, and the integrity of Charles. Then 
followed the pedigrees of each, and a long account of the 
history, glows, and glories, and beauties- of Mabelthorp, 
with magnificent illustrations of the manor-house, inside 
and out. The whole description covered two pages of 
the Herald. 

Sidney tore the paper into a thousand shreds. She to 
marry that beggar — that pauper! How had it happened 
that he never had heard Hugh mention his name, and that 
he had not heard that Mary had met Charles while abroad ? 


no Mary Starkweather. 

it is too much, too much ! Curse her ! Curse them 
all!” he exclaimed, as he kicked over a chair and stag- 
gered about the room like a drunken man, venting his 
wrath on whatever came in his way, and nearly killing a 
poor little dog that happened to be in the room. 

Again he exclaimed to himself: ^‘The wedding to be 
celebrated at MabelthorpT He laughed like a fiend. 
^^Hot much! I can stop that at least. My money will 
speak in that matter, I guess. I’ll have the infernal estate 
in my hands before another day; and I’ll have every tree 
on the place cut down. Hot one shall be left standing. 
I will demolish the house. Not a stick nor a stone shall 
be left. Let it once come into my hands, and its history 
shall be but a memory.” 

He strode out to the buggy, leaped into it, nearly knock- 
ing down the groom, and cruelly lashing the poor horse, 
tore around to Solmon’s, where he gave orders that no 
mercy should be shown the general. 

Solmon, himself, did not like the proud Starkweathers; 
but he might have shown some mercy had he not been 
temporarily in the hands of Sidney, to whom he was 
obliged to yield, or lose a large sum of money. 

Sidney then drove home to find that his mother had 
returned without Mrs. Multon, and to learn that all the 
old woman knew about her was that she had gone away in 
the direction of Mabelthorp, and she presumed she had 
gone to Miss Starkweather for assistance. 

^^Curse them all! Must they ever come between me 
and my desire? I’ll not be thwarted in this. I’ll have 
her if I take her by force!” 

He started out, and drove directly in the opposite direc- 
tion from Mabelthorp — drove at a reckless speed until he 
had expended some of his wrath. Then he turned toward 


Ill 


Telling Charles of the Mortgage. 

Mabelthorp by a roundabout course. When he reached 
there, he saw Solmon’s buggy, and said to himself: 

‘^Aha ! the fun has begun. I’ll find my lady in tears, 
1 fancy, and it won’t be hard work to get the woman. J ust 
wait till I have her in my power. I’ll have a beautiful 
slave — see if I don’t!” 


I 12 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A STRANGE MARRIAGE. 

After her father and Dr. Malridge had gone, Mary 
entered the house and stood at the window. She was ex- 
pecting Charles. She saw the doctor drive away and her 
father disappear. She saw Malcolm sitting under a tree, 
evidently trying to decipher a letter. She felt a little 
weary, and turning^ she passed from object to object in 
the room, touching them tenderly. She sighed: ^‘Only a 
little while longer in the dear old home. How can I 
leave here, where I was born, and where my mother lived 
and died — ^where each niche and corner has some beloved 
association ; where each bird and squirrel is my friend ; and 
where Charles 

She could contain herself no longer; but flinging her- 
self on the sofa, she gave way to the utmost extreme of 
grief, and sobbed as if her heart would break. Suddenly 
she sprang up, and dashing away the tears, exclaimed 
aloud : 

^^Oh, my! What am I doing? Tears, tears! What has 
become of all my cherished beliefs ? There, there !’’ as she 
determinedly dried her eyes, ^^not another tear, positively ! 
There will be time enough to cry when all else fails. Until 


A Strange Marriage. 1 1 3 

then, I am going to laugh and she caught up her hat, 
laughing softly to herself, and was just passing out on the 
veranda, when she saw Charles coming toward the house. 
At this moment, his naturally optimistic face was clouded 
with anxiety ; but his expression changed to one of surprise 
and tenderness, as he beheld the smiling, radiant face of 
the fair young girl, who now came forward, giving him 
both hands in cordial, winsome greeting, as she exclaimed : 

‘^Oh, Charles ! Is it really you ? I am so glad you have 
come ! IsnH this a glorious morning ? Come into the 
house and give an account of yourself.’^ 

Charles took both her hands in his,, and stood gazing at 
her for a moment, and then said: don't know what to 

make of you.” 

‘‘Why?” said Mary, tipping her head to one side and 
looking at him quizzically. 

“Mary, dear, your face is actually shining. One would 
almost think you were happy.” 

“Well,” said Mary, sinking down on the arm of a chair 
and lightly swinging her hat in a playful manner, “I am 
not unhappy.” 

Charles gave a little sigh of relief, as he replied: “Of 
course I would rather hear you laugh than see you cry; 
but I can't — I positively can't see how you can do it.” He 
began pacing up and down the room disconsolately. 

Mary laughed softly, saying^ “You must excuse me for 
laughing, Charles, but you really ought to see the expres- 
sion on your face. It is positively dolorous.” 

“How can I help it ?” he answered, as he stopped walk- 
ing, and stood before her. “How I don't want to make 
you wretched, but, my darling, do you realize,” reaching 
out and taking her hand in his and speaking with great 
seriousness, “that in a few hours this house will have passed 
out of your father's hands, and it will be to you a home no 


1 14 Mary Starkweather. 

longer And, as he said this, there was positive anguish 
in his voice. For he very much feared that this woman, 
who was dearer to him than life itself, did not wholly ap- 
preciate the gravity of the calamity that was about to 
befall her. He felt that his letter had failed in its mis- 
sion. 

Mary had arisen, and was standing, looking at the trou- 
bled face of her lover. She was, at that moment, a vision 
of loveliness and womanly purity. There was nothing 
sad nor dreamy in her glorious blue eyes, nor did she have 
the look of one whose thoughts were far away. On the 
contrary, she was thoroughly alive to the present, and very 
serious. Yet, the sunshine itself was not brighter than 
her smile, as she looked up into the eyes of her proud, 
handsome lover, and said: 

“Charles, dear, I do realize it. I know that in a few 
hours, nay, almost any moment, Mr. Solmon will be here 
to foreclose the mortgage he holds on dear old Mabel- 
thorp. I realize that if the money is not paid that papa 
and I will have to go out into the world without a dollar. 
I also know that all this would have been averted by the 
truest, best, and noblest man on earth, your own dear self, 
had it been possible. I realize, too, that our wedding that 
was to take place this month, has been indefinitely post- 
poned. I realize it all — all,’^ sighed Mary as she turned 
away. 

“And yet you smile! I actually heard you laughing 
when I entered the house a few moments ago.” 

“Well,” responded Mary, turning suddenly, and speak- 
ing in a bantering manner, “would you have been better 
satisfied if you had found me with red eyes and nose from 
weeping?” Then, as Charles was about to reply, she put 
up her hands to signify she wished to be beard, and con- 
tinued in a decided manner : 


A Strange Marriage. 115 

^^Now, listen to me, Charles. I am not going to cry 
until I am obliged to. I believe if we are compelled to 
leave this place, we will find something to eat and some- 
thing to wear. What does the Bible say?’"’ she asked 
laughingly. ^Feed my lambs.’ That’s myself. Teed 
my sheep.’ That’s you.” 

Charles laughed a little, in spite of himself, as he said : 
^^Well, I like that — being called a sheep;” then all his 
anxiety returning, he added: "Tut really, Mary, this is a 
very serious matter.” 

""Oh, well, then,” said Mary brightly, the soft love-light 
coming in her eyes, ""in all seriousness, I am not dis- 
couraged. You know Silas and Saul of Tarsus? Well, 
they were bound hand and foot, and were in prison. Now, 
what did they do?” 

""I don’t know. What did they do?” wonderingly asked 
Charles, trying to guess what Silas and Saul of Tarsus 
had to do with their present trouble. 

""Did they cry and moan? Oh, no! They sang and 
gave praise, and the walls tumbled about them, and they 
were set free. So Fm going to sing and praise, and I’m 
sure my walls will tumble down, and I will be free. Dear 
Charlie, I thought you were a good Churchman. Why 
don’t you ask for help out of this trouble?” 

She said all this in a bright, cheery voice, and coming 
up to him, as she asked the question, she gave him a soul- 
glancing smile that sent an electric thrill to the tips of her 
lover’s fingers. He gave her a look of intense fondness, 
such as could come into his eyes for no other woman in the 
world, as he took her hand, and placing his arm about her 
waist, he led her to a sofa, and seated himself beside her. 
Then he said tenderly : 

""My loved one, I know what it will mean to you and 
your father to give up Mabelthorp. The thought of it 


ii6 Mary Starkweather. 

on his account seems so dreadful. If only I had known this 
earlier, something might have been done; or, if we only 
had a little more time. It has almost driven me wild, 
and I have prayed, oh, so sincerely, that God would spare 
you this, and I have hoped my prayers would have been 
answered. But the time is so short. I fear we will have 
to face the worst.” 

'^Excuse me for laughing,” said Mary, ^^but I can’t help 
it. How little you trust this God of yours ! Now, if your 
father were living, and had plenty of money, and you 
should ask for enough to make you comfortable, do you 
think he would refuse to give it to you?” 

^^Certainly not.” 

^^Well, why not trust your Heavenly Father, also? The 
Bible plainly says: ^All things whatsoever ye ask in my 
name shall be done unto you.’ Now, I have asked in His 
name, to keep the dear old place, that papa may end his 
days here, and I believe I shall, in some way, receive what 
I have asked for. I believe, not hope, not think — I Icnow 
that in some way, we shall be set free. I shall rest in this 
belief, come what may,” said Mary, rising. 

But at this moment the sound of Trixe/s voice came 
to Mary, saying to some one: ‘^You will find Miss Mary 
in the drawing-room.” 

'^All right, Trixey, I’ll find her,” came the response. 

Mary recognized Colonel Eversoll’s voice, and the next 
instant he appeared in the doorway. He had the vigor, 
the dash, the full blood of a man in his prime. His every 
movement showed him to be alive with courage, hope and 
confidence. 

He came forward hurriedly, and shaking hands with 
Mary and Charles, he said, without waiting to be seated: 

^^Ah, my dear Miss Starkweather, I am so glad to find 
you home this morning. I have come to you in the greatest 


A Strange Marriage. 117 

dilemma, and, as I have no time for preliminary talk, I 
will state my business at once. You know Harry Drum- 
mond, nephew of old Ealph Burbank?’’ 

^^Harry Drummond? Of course I remember him.” 
should say we do remember him,” echoed Charles. 

^^Well,” continued the colonel, ^Vhen his old uncle died, 
three years ago, he made a will to the effect that if Harry, 
who was then abroad, returned to America and married 
an American girl, and took his uncle’s name, before the 
expiration of three years, all of his property was to go 
to Harry. But if he did not, it was to go to charity. I 
have tried in my many letters to Harry, to give him a hint 
to come home; but he did not take it. And my instruc- 
tions from his uncle were such that I dared not ask him 
outright to come, or to influence him, for his uncle said 
that if love of America did not cause Harry to return, he 
could go penniless so far as he was concerned. Now, the 
will expires to the minute of the three years; and to-day, 
at twelve o’clock, the time is up. And about an hour ago, 
in walked Harry. When I read him the conditions of the 
will, he was aghast. I don’t think he ever has thought 
of marriage in his life. It was a piece of idiotic eccen- 
tricity in the old man to make such conditions. However, 
to make a long story short, Harry is willing to fulfill the 
conditions of the will, if he can find a girl to have him. 
But there is where the trouble comes in,” excitedly con- 
tinued the colonel. ^^He has been away from America 
so long that he knows no one, and then again, the time is 
so short. I am a stuffy lawyer, and know so few girls. 
However, he has gone to get a marriage license, and I have 
started out to find him a wife.” 

During this hurried recital, Mary and Charles listened 
with widening eyes, and when the colonel ended by his dec- 
laration of being out on the hunt for a wife, they both 


ii8 Mary Starkweather. 

broke into merry peals of laughter. The colonel stood 
and looked at them a minute, and then said : 

^^By George! It may be funny to you, but it’s a con- 
sideration of millions to Harry, and it’s no laughing 
matter.” 

^^Well, what are you going to do?” asked Mary. 

^^Do !” exclaimed the colonel. ^^Why, I’ve come to you.” 

^‘Me !” exclaimed Mary ; and again her merry laugh rang 
out. ‘T am sorry, but I can’t accommodate you.” 

^^Ho,” said Charles, going to Mary and taking her hand 
and putting his arm around her waist, ^T’m very sorry, 
but we can’t accommodate you. How, do you see. 
Colonel?” 

^^Well, yes. I rather think I do,” answered the per- 
plexed colonel, a light breaking in upon him. 

^^But here comes papa; perhaps he can help you!” ex- 
claimed Mary. 

The colonel turned, and caught the general by t.he 
hand, and explained the situation, saying, ^^Something 
must be done.” 

^^This is hard on Harry,” said the general. 

^^Of course it is,” responded the colonel. “He is a 
good fellow, his only fault being his roving disposition. In 
that I can fully recommend him. He has been four years 
trying to decide which he likes better : the City of Fogs or 
the City of Frogs, and not being able to come to a decision, 
he has returned to his first love, America, and is willing 
to kiss the feet of the Goddess of Liberty, Miss Hail 
Columbia, or any other blooming maiden that will help 
him out of his present dilemma. I told him to meet me 
here.” The colonel glanced out of the window, and ex- 
claiming, “By Jove! there he is now,” he hurried out to 
meet Harry, who exclaimed excitedly: 


A Strange Marriage. 119 

got it, IVe got it. There! take it/’ thrusting a 
paper into the colonel’s hands. Where is she?” 

‘^‘Take it, take it I’ ^Where is she ?’ What are you 
talking about? What do you mean?” 

^^The marriage license and the woman — the girl — ^the 
female I am going to marry. .Where is she? Have you 
found her?” questioned the excited Harry. 

^^Ho, I haven’t found her/’ replied the colonel. ^^Have 
you lost your wits?” 

‘^But we must find some one. I don’t care who it is !” 
exclaimed Harry, pulling out his watch and consulting it. 

ust think ! I have only one hour and a half.” 

^^Come,” said the colonel, as he pulled him into the 
room, ^^you have not greeted your old friends.” 

Charles and General Starkweather came forward to meet 
Harry, warmly greeting him. 

‘^Ah !” said the general, “I am glad to welcome the wan- 
derer back to his native shores.” 

^^You have not forgotten little Mary, have you?” said 
the colonel, turning to Mary. 

^^Mary? Can it be possible!” said Harry, taking her 
hand, and gazing with unconcealed admiration on the 
radiantly beautiful girl before him. ^^Mary grown into 
such a lovely woman !” Then, dropping her hand, he 
turned to the colonel. ^Terhaps she will 

^^Oh, no, she won’t! She is not in the market,” re- 
plied the colonel. 

am sorry for you,” said Charles to Harry. “The 
colonel has just been telling us of the pickle you’re in. 
I wish we could help you out.” 

“Yes,” said Mary laughingly, “I wish we had a dozen 
pretty girls here for you to choose from.” 

Harry was a great favorite. 

“Come, now. Miss Mary, you must know some one. Do 


120 Mary Starkweather. 

help me out/ begged Harry, agai^ looking at his watch. 

have only an hour and a quarter. 1 don’t care who 
she is.” But as he caught the surprised look on Mary’s 
face, he added: ^‘1 mean so long as she is an American, 
and — white. She need never live with me a minute. In 
fact, I would rather she wouldn’t. I will support her all 
her life, and she can be as free as air.” 

great inducement, surely; but even on those liberal 
terms I don’t think you can find a wife here — at least, not 
on such short notice,” said the general. 

^‘^Can’t I marry your maid?” asked Harry,” turning to 
Mary. 

^^She’s French,” laughed Mary. 

^‘^Your cook, then?” said Harry desperately. 

^^Irish/’ laconically replied the general. 

Charles came forward, and Harry exclaimed: ^^Your 
laundress, Charlie ! What’s the matter with her ?” 

^^She’s a Chinaman,” replied Charles. 

^^Great Scott! What shall I do?” groaned Harry, in- 
voking an American deity, as he collapsed into a chair. 

Mary crossed the room, and said to the colonel in a low 
voice: ‘‘^Colonel, I have an idea.” And then, in as few 
words as possible, she told him of Mrs. Multon and her 
friendless situation ; of the delicate condition of both 
mother and child; a sickly babe on her hands. 

^^Do you suppose it would be possible to get her to marry 
Harry? She is a lady, I am positive. And she is suf- 
fering so. She is now in the house. Harry has promised 
he will support and never trouble the woman who marries 
him. If you wish it, I will take you to Mrs. Multon?” 

^^An excellent suggestion,” replied the delighted colonel. 
'‘It certainly is worth the trial, at any rate.” And going 
over to Harry, he slapped him on the back, exclaiming: 
"Cheer up, my boy ! All is not lost. We’ve still another 


121 


A Strange Marriage. 

chance left, which, if it fails. I’ll marry yon myself ! — 
yes, damn it. I’ll marry you myself!” was the colonel’s 
parting declaration as he laughingly quitted the room. 

Mary presented Colonel Eversoll to Mrs. Multon, and 
said, as she took her hand and gazed into her great, mourn- 
ful, black eyes: 

^^Colonel Eversoll will explain his business. Use your 
own judgment in the matter, and remember, you have my 
sympathy, no matter what your decision may be. I can- 
not advise you in this, Mrs. Multon. I will only say that 
the man whom Colonel Eversoll will speak to you about, 
is a gentleman. I will vouch for that. And he will do 
whatever he agrees to do.” 

Then she withdrew, leaving the colonel alone with Mrs. 
Multon ; and he, in the fewest words possible, made known 
the situation^ ending by urging her, for her own and her 
child’s sake, to become the wife of Mr. Drummond, assur- 
ing her that she need not fear his ever troubling her, 
and that she would be amply provided for. 

The poor little woman was overcome with surprise, and 
almost horror at the suggestion. 

‘T cannot, indeed I cannot. Colonel Eversoll!” she ex- 
claimed. 

“For your child’s sake,” said he, going to the little 
one, and tenderly lifting the frail babe in his arms. “See 
how pale and delicate it is. Think of what I propose. 
It means for your babe, food, clothing, care, without 
which it cannot live.” 

She started as if stung by his words. “Cannot live! 
Oh, Colonel Eversoll, do not say that !” wailed the stricken 
mother. 

“It is true,” said the colonel, gently replacing the little 
one on the couch. “Your child has the frailest hold on 


122 Mary Starkweather. 

life, and needs every care. Yon now have it in your 
power to give her this.’^ 

^TOe! My little blossom moaned the mother, going 
to the couch and gazing with unutterable anguish on the 
face of her child. 

There was a moment’s hesitation. It seemed as if one 
could almost see the throbs of her lacerated heart. The 
repugnance at the thought of selling herself was horri- 
ble. 

^‘Die !” she repeated. ^^And I can save her by this sac- 
rifice.” 

Still irresolute, her mind drifted to Mary, that lovely 
girl, who even though she was about to be turned from her 
home, gave her the tenderest sympathy. Then, as a spasm 
of pain passed over the little face, on which she was gaz- 
ing, and as the remembrance of the colonel’s words came 
back, she turned to him, and said hastily: 

^^This man is rich, you say, very rich?” 

^^He is very wealthy and is able to give you whatever 
you may require,” said the colonel. 

Then, with quickly summoned resolution and firmness, 
she said : will do what you ask. I will marry this man ; 
but on one condition only: that I shall not see his face, 
nor he mine; that he will never claim me after the cere- 
mony; that I can leave here immediately.” 

^^Everything shall be just as you wish,” said the de- 
lighted colonel. 

‘^Then, the quicker, the better,” said Mrs. Multon, ‘^else 
I may not have the courage to go on.” 

When the colonel left the room, she seated herself at 
a small desk and commenced to write rapidly. 

When Colonel Eversoll and Mary left the parlor. Gen- 
eral Starkweather stood near the window, for a few min- 
utes, forgetting Harry’s trouble in the immensity of his 


123 


A Strange Marriage. 

own deplorable situation. He had not even confided his 
trouble to his old friend, Colonel Eversoll, who had but 
just come, to rest and recuperate for a few days, at Clin- 
ton, where he still kept his summer home, after a long 
and most wearing law ease that he had just won. 

The colonel was not a rich man; and the general knew 
that should he become aware of the situation, he would 
be sorely distressed could he not aid his old friend. There- 
fore, he determined not to tell him; but it required all 
the nerve he possessed to be agreeable in the face of the 
impending crisis. 

Going into the hall, he met Mary, who informed him 
of the coloneFs efforts to persuade Mrs. Multon to become 
Harry’s wife. And slipping her hand into her father’s 
arm, they walked out on the veranda, where, the general 
glancing down the road, espied the carriage of Dr. Mal- 
ridge. 

“The very man we want!” he exclaimed. “Here, 
Charlie,” he called, stepping to the door. 

In a moment he had Charles flying down the road, in 
mad haste, after Dr. Malridge, whom he soon overtook, and 
quickly explaining that General Starkweather wanted to 
speak to him, he hurried the wondering doctor to the 
house. 

Colonel Eversoll had just informed the general that Mrs. 
Multon had consented to marry Harry; and as he turned 
away he heard the general saying to Dr. Malridge : 

“My dear doctor, this is really sudden, I know; but it 
is all right, I assure you. There are reasons why there 
should be no publicity to this affair, and why this marriage 
must be kept a secret, for the present.” 

“All right. General,” replied Dr. Malridge. “It shall 
be as you say; only, if it were some one that I knew less 


124 


Mary Starkweather. 

of than yourself, I should hesitate about performing 
the ceremony in this irregular manner.” 

The colonel informed Mary of the result of his inter- 
view, and of the conditions imposed. She immediately 
ordered the carriage that it might be in readiness to take 
Mrs. Multon to the station, and went to assist her to 
prepare for the ceremony. 

Being left alone^ Harry sat in the most dejected man- 
ner. He had a clever face; his honest gray eyes and 
winning smile readily found their way to the hearts of 
either sex. He had been brought up and educated by 
a bachelor uncle, his mother’s only brother, and a mil- 
lionaire several times over. 

Harry was no cad. Still, he had been a ‘^^swell among 
the swells,” with plenty of money. And now, to be left 
penniless. He could not pull himself together sufficiently 
to collect his thoughts and face this awful calamity. This 
last act of his uncle, in making conditions of this sort to 
his will, conditions that, at this moment, he could see 
no way of fulfilling, and with poverty staring him in the 
face, seemed appalling and he was well-nigh distraught. 
He was like a stranger in a strange land. He did not 
know which way to turn. Oh, it was too much ! He felt 
he could not sit there, waiting, longer. He got up hastily, 
thinking he would go out on the road, and challenge the 
first woman he met to marry him. He started toward 
the door, and met the colonel, who exclaimed gleefully: 

‘Tt’s all right, my boy! The battle’s fought, the day 
is ours, everything is done, spick and span, in the nick 
of time. Saved, mentally, physically, but I fear you’re 
lost morally,” said the colonel mockingly. 

“Thanks, my benefactor, my friend,” said the now de- 
lighted Harry, all his good nature instantly returning. 


A Strange Marriage. 125 

^^Don^t worry about my morals. They are fireproof. But 
where is the lady? — I mean my wife that is to be?” 

‘^Never you mind. You just stay right here, and Mary 
and I will manage this affair.” 

General Starkweather took Dr. Malridge to the library, 
saying: “After all, we have you, I think, for the rest of 
the day.” 

For the next twenty minutes, there was a great bustling 
to and fro. 

Malcolm, having received a most mysterious letter from 
a Mr. White, a lawyer in town, asking him to call at 
once at his office, had taken it upon himself to drive Mrs. 
Multon to the station, and to see Mr. White at the same 
time. In accordance with this arrangement, Malcolm 
drove around to the door, seated on the box, waiting for 
the lady, when Trixey came out, and^ in the most mys- 
terious manner, informed him that a wedding was about 
to take place in the house, a bit of news that nearly par- 
alyzed Malcolm with astonishment. Such a rush and 
excitement as the past few days had been ! Malcolm was 
very unhappy, and nothing but curiosity could have made 
him leave home at such a time, even to go down to the 
station. But he was not accustomed to getting letters 
from lawyers, and his curiosity got the better of him. 

When all was ready, Mary exclaimed: “What shall we 
do? I have a dozen veils, but not a real thick one for 
Mrs. Multon.” 

“Oh, that can easily be arranged,” said the colonel; and 
whipping out his handkerchief, he went to Harry, and 
said in a tragic manner : “Behold your executioner !” And 


126 Mary Starkweather. 

in a trice, he had tied the handkerchief over Harry’s eyes, 
completely blindfolding him, while Harry, though laugh- 
ing and protesting, was willing enough to yield any point, 
in order to escape the calamity of poverty that had been 
staring him in the face for the past three hours. 

‘^^There !” said the colonel, as he gave a few finishing, 
precautionary touches to the bandage, ‘^you are ready for 
the sacrifice.” 

lamb led to the slaughter,” said Harry, as with the 
aid of the colonel, he stumbled across the hall to the 
library, there to take his stand and await the coming of his 
bride. Then he added : ^^This is not the first time a man 
has rushed blindfold into matrimony.” 

In a few moments Mrs. Multon was led in by Mary. 
She was closely veiled. She walked firmly and unhesitat- 
ingly to the side of Harry. She did not give way to any 
burst of agony as Mary had feared. There were neither 
sobs nor tears, only the responses in a low tone, as Dr. 
Malridge’s full, sonorous voice delivered the words that 
made them man and wife. 

Perhaps her thoughts were far away to another marriage 
service with the husband now gone forever. 

Mary led Mrs. Multon to the door, where Trixey was 
awaiting her, and said: 

^The carriage is at the door. Trixey will assist you 
to get ready.” 

Mary returned to the drawing-room just as Harry, be- 
ing informed that Mrs. Multon was out of the room, 
snatched the handkerchief from his eyes, and was excitedly 
mopping his face with it ; for to state the real fact, when 
it came right down to the last moment, and Harry heard 
the solemn words of the marriage service, an awful feel- 
ing for the thing he was doing and the possible conse- 
quences of such a mad marriage came over him. He felt 


A Strange Marriage. 127 

the cold perspiration starting from every pore in his 
body. 

^^There ! thank heaven it^s over, and I am safe, and 
by the skin of my teeth, too he exclaimed, glancing 
at his watch. ‘^Ten minutes later, and all would have 
been lost. By Jove, Miss Starkweather! I feel like a 
man that has just been saved from drowning. And to 
think I have you and the dear old coloned to thank for 
it.^^ 

“No, no; not me. You can bestow all your thanks on 
Miss Mary,’’ said the colonel. “But for her, you would still 
be a benedict and — ^lost.” 

“But, Colonel, where is she? What is she going to do 
now ?” 

“She is going away at once, after a few preliminaries 
are arranged, — the marriage settlements, etc., etc.,” replied 
the colonel. 

“I have done all I could to persuade her to remain a 
few days; but it is impossible to keep her. She insists 
upon going at once,” said Mar}^, who, in her absolute faith 
that she would keep her home, had made no change in her 
regular duties, and had, in accordance with this faith, 
urged Mrs. Multon to take her time about leaving. 

“I am glad to hear that she is going. She shows good 
taste, at any rate,” said Harry in a relieved voice; for 
he was very skeptical in regard to all this blindfolding 
business, and was rejoiced to know that she was to take her 
departure at once. 

“Beg pardon, but who is this person ?” with slight stress 
upon the word person. And, as Mary looked inquiringly 
at him, without replying, he stammered: “I mean, who 
is this — er — ah — ^lady?” Still Mary looked at him with- 
out apparently understanding him, and he blurted out: 
“That is, who is — well, who is my wife, any way?” 


128 Mary Starkweather. 

^^Yes, who is his wife, any way?^’ queried the colonel. 

Mary was very much amused at Harry’s efforts to avoid 
the word wife, and she laughed softly, as she replied : 

can tell you all I know very quickly. I went, not 
long ago, to carry some sewing to a poor woman, who lives 
in the little tumble-down cottage down the road. There 
I found this woman and her little babe. She had taken 
a poorly furnished room, there, expecting to find sewing, 
whereby she could support herself and child. Her babe 
has been very ill. I sent a doctor to her, and aided her as 
best I could. She told me that her mother died, leaving 
her an orphan at fourteen years of age; that her father 
married again, and that her stepmother made her life 
so wretched, that, when she was sixteen, she became the 
wife of a boy schoolmate to whom she had been engaged 
ever since they were children. Her own father, as well 
as her husband’s father, cast them off. But, her husband, 
who was a brave boy, she said, secured a position with 
sufficient salary to support them. All went well until the 
end of the year, when her husband took cold, from some 
exposure, and died, leaving her a penniless widow at seven- 
teen, with this infant. Her husband has been dead but 
three months. She is very refined, and is a lady, I am 
sure ; and nothing but anxiety for her child could have in- 
duced her to become your wife.” 

‘^Ah, a romance in one act,” said Harry skeptically. 

^^This is the second act,” laughed the colonel. 

wonder how long the curtain will be down before the 
third act,” remarked Harry. 

‘^Oh, you need never fear her troubling you,” answered 
Mary. ^'She seems to have but one thought, and that 
is, to get away from here without seeing you. Come, 
Colonel, we must see the little woman off.” And Mary 
led the way from the room. 


129 


A Strange Marriage. 

'^Without seeing me/’ soliloquized Harry. ^^Compli- 
mentary indeed. Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed, for he was 
now his happy self once more. ‘^What a glorious honey- 
moon I’ll have. Ho one to find fault if I stay out late, 
or to abuse me if I should go on a little toot. She can- 
not go too quickly to suit me. Eefined? Bah! I’ll bet 
she’s a regular little schemer ; and all this fuss about get- 
ting away in such a hurry, is all affectation. Oh, well! 
I would have married the cook, laundress, or anybody 
sooner than give up all old Uncle Ealph’s millions; and 
I’m obliged to this — woman, whoever she is, that has 
helped me out of this dilemma. She shall never have 
anything but good treatment from me, and money enough 
to live in clover the rest of her days. I’ll see to that. 
If she will only keep her distance, it is all I’ll ask of 
her.” 

But at this moment, his soliloquy was cut short, as he 
heard Mary’s and the colonel’s voice; and he knew they 
were escorting his wife to the carriage. As he glanced 
curiously out of the window, he got a glimpse of a closely 
veiled figure in a rusty black dress; and he continued his 
soliloquy : 

^Hf her face is no prettier than her shabby black dress, 
and I don’t suppose it is, she need not have been so par- 
ticular about hiding it behind that hideous black veil. 
Gee whiz ! she’s starting on her wedding tour. I hope she’ll 
enjoy it.” 

The colonel’s voice came to him, saying : ‘^Everything is 
satisfactorily arranged, I believe?” 

From behind the black veil came the response: “Yes, 
everything.” 

“Well, by Jove! this is a go, surely,” thought Harry. 
“Three hours ago, I was a rich bachelor, with, as I supposed 
not a care in the world— whole-hearted, fancy free. Now, 


130 


Mary Starkweather. 

three hours after, I am a married man and father of a 
family. There go my wife and child, and in a few min- 
utes more, I will be a widower, or much the same thing. 
Uncle Ealph always said I was a devil of a fellow, and 
ITl soon begin to believe it myself ! At any rate, I have 
lived a small lifetime in the last three hours.” 

He took a turn in the room, and again glancing from the 
window, continued : ^^There ! she is getting into the carriage, 
and Miss Mary is holding up the baby and kissing it. 
Ugh ! Urn glad it isn’t I that has to do it. Well, by George ! 
If it didn’t look straight at me and laugh. Oh, well ! 
I’ll take that laugh for a good omen. The mother’s black 
dress has given me the shivers. Good-by, little wife and 
baby,” waving an imaginary farewell to them. “Ta, ta, 
boy or girl, whichever you are. Gad ! Whoever heard 
of a man not knowing whether his four-months-old kid 
was a boy or a girl !” And then, as the carriage whirled 
down the drive, he said: ^‘Good-by, little hunky-punky. 
You and your mother have done me a good turn which I 
shall not forget.” 

He still stood at the window, and saw the general re- 
enter the house, and go to the library. He saw Charles 
join Mary, and enter into an earnest conversation with 
her, as they disappeared in the shrubbery, a little way down 
the lawn. The colonel was talking to the man in charge 
of the light buggy in which he had driven over to Mabel- 
thorp. Harry turned, and was about to leave the house 
to join the colonel, when Trixey came up to him, and in a 
hurried and mysterious manner, said, as she put a letter 
in his hand: 

‘^Here is a letter, sir, which the lady, who has just gone, 
left for you. She told me to give it to 3^ou as soon as she 
was out of the house, and to beg of you to read it at once, 
and not wait a moment, as it was very important.” 


A Strange Marriage. 13 1 

Harry took the letter mechanically, looking down in- 
differently, and apparently not in a hurry to know the con- 
tents. 

Again Trixey spoke: “I am sure it is very important;’^ 
then left the room quickly. 

^‘^Very important/ 'very important,^ ” thought Harry. . 
wonder what in thunder will happen next ! A letter 
from my wife — ahem! A new sensation. Now, what in 
the devil has she to say to me? I suppose she will com- 
mence : ^My dear hubby-dubby.’ I was in hopes she would 
spare me this^ and transact all business with the colonel, 
who is my lawyer as well as my spiritual adviser. But 
I suppose I must pay the penalty of being a married 
man; and besides, a written interview is so much more 
easily managed than a personal one. But let me see what 
she has to say. 

^^Deuced pretty handwriting for a beggar,” thought 
Harry, glancing carelessly at the address, as he removed 
the letter from the envelope. Then he read: 

^Mr. Drummond, Dear Sir :’ — Ahem ! very formal for 
a wife,” thought Harry. — “T hope you will understand that 
I must naturally be very much pained, owing to our peculiar 
relations, to ask a favor of you so soon.’ I think, myself, 
it’s a little premature,” mentally commented Harry. ^^But 
I suppose this is only the beginning of what I have to 
expect.” — ^But I trust the contents of this letter will be 
my apology for doing so. I have discovered that in order 
to save the good name of his son. General Starkweather 
mortgaged Mabelthorp, for the sum of fifty thousand 
dollars, to Mr. Solmon, the broker, who has refused to re- 
new the mortgage. General Starkweather has made every 
effort to raise the money, but, so far, he has failed. To- 
day is the last day, and if the money is not paid, Mabel- 
thorp passes out of his hands. I have learned all this 


132 Mary Starkweather. 

from Sidney Banks, who, for some reason, hates General 
Starkweather and his daughter; and I am confident he is 
working against them, and, even now, is exulting in their 
prospective ruin. Colonel Eversoll has told me you are 
rich. In God^s name, save this home, if you can. Miss 
Starkweather has been a ministering angel to me and my 
babe. Mr. Solmon will show no mercy. Save them ; and 
if the prayers of a friendless woman can be of any avail 
to one in your position, believe me, you shall have them 
until death.^ ” 

There was no signature. 

Mabelthorp in danger! Such a calamity hanging over 
this home, and yet, they had been helping him, and ap- 
paretly thinking only of him and his misfortune ; and, even 
now, knowing he was rich, they had not rushed to him for 
assistance. Harry could hardly conceive it possible that 
it was true, or that such utter unselfishness could exist. 
But it was a time for action. And springing up, he ex- 
claimed, as he darted into the hall for his hat : 

“Pray God I may not be too late!” 

Bushing down to where the colonel was standing, he un- 
ceremoniously pushed him into the buggy, and leaped in 
after him, saying to the servant, as he did so : 

“Tell General Starkweather we will be back directly.” 
And thrusting Mrs. Multon^s letter into the colonel’s hand, 
he lashed the horse to its utmost speed, and, in less than 
ten minutes, drew up before the bank in Clinton. 

Mary and Charles had caught a glimpse of Harry’s fly- 
ing figure. 

“Hello! what’s up now, I wonder? There goes Drum- 
mond, running away like a March hare,” said Charles. 

“He seems in a great hurry,” said Mary, looking after 
Harry. “I supposed both he and the colonel would re- 
main for luncheon. I am so glad Dr. Malridge stayed 


133 


A Strange Marriage. 

over.’’ Then, as they entered the house, Mary continued: 
^^What an eventful day this has been ! I think I shall re- 
member it the rest of my life.” 

‘T don’t think I will soon forget it, myself. I can- 
not understand how you and your father have managed 
to keep so perfectly cool, under the circumstances.” 

Charles was in a state of suppressed excitement. He 
was almost in a frenzy. If Mary had been hysterical, and 
in tears, there would have been something that he could 
have done. He could, at least, have talked to and com- 
forted her, encouraged her father, and bade them hope. 
But, on the contrary, they were both perfectly self-con- 
tained. It must be confessed, though, that the general was 
very pale, and had a look on his face such as the martyrs 
must have worn, when about to be led to the stake. But 
Mary was really smiling. Charles looked at her. Was 
she doing this for her father’s sake, or did she really 
feel it? He could not tell. Never had she been so dear 
to this man as she was at this moment. He felt he would 
gladly lay down his life to save her from this great sor- 
row. He felt like a child in his utter helplessness. He 
reluctantly concluded that they must face the worst, and 
that some plans should be laid, some definite form of ac- 
tion taken, in regard to their immediate future. Going 
to where Mary was standing, he said: 

^^Now that we are alone, shall we not speak of your own 
affairs ? Ho you know, that in a very little time, this home 
will be in the hands of strangers?” 

^^No, I don’t know it. I still have faith in my God if 
you have not in yours. I still believe this calamity will 
be averted,” said Mary. 

“But suppose it is not; if after all, you are compelled 
to yield? I suppose you will then say it is all for the 
best, and be .reconciled.” 


134 


Mary Starkweather. 

Mary turned and looked him in the face, for a mo- 
ment, and then said, slowly, but positively: ^‘No, I could 
not, under any circumstances, feel it was for the best. 
Listen to me, Charles. Years ago, I used to read the 
Bible and pray as you do. I prayed, hoping my prayers 
would be answered. Now, I know I did not understand 
the Bible. 

“When I was in Boston, I became acquainted with a 
lady; and from her, I believe, I learned to read the Bible 
aright. The Book, in her hands, became a revelation to 
me. From her, I learned a true religion. It is a religion 
of perfect faith, perfect confidence, perfect love, and a 
common brotherhood for all living things.” 

“Mary, dear,” said Charles, “this is very sweet and 
womanly; but we must think of the present. ' How can 
all this affect our present difficulties?” 

“How? Because I believe in the promises contained in 
the Bible. They sustain me. ^Ask, and ye shall receive.’ 
Now, I have asked only for what should be ours, by right. 
I do not ask for great riches. I do not even desire them; 
for they can become easily a great burden. What I want 
is freedom.” 

“And you believe it will be given you?” asked Charles, 
looking with utter amazement into the frank, fearless, 
trusting eyes that now met his, and in which there was no 
shadow of doubt. 

“I do. I can have it without depriving any one else. 
This debt was not created through any extravagance on 
the part of my father, or myself, but to save the good 
name of poor brother Hugh. We have done all we could 
to raise the money, arid have failed. And now, I am await- 
ing the fulfilment of His promise, and in spite of seeming 
evidence to the contrary, I still believe it will be ful- 
filled.” 


135 


A Strange Marriage. 

Honest tears welled up into the eyes of Charles, as he 
looked at Mary. To him she seemed transfigured. Tak- 
ing her hands, he said very gently, and with a world of 
compassion in his voice: 

‘^My dear Mary, it would indeed be cruelty to have such 
faith shattered. But I fear 

Lightly placing her rosy fingers on his lips, she ex- 
claimed : “There ! don’t say that again. I hate the word 
fear/' Then, stepping back a few paces, she said smil- 
ingly: “Shall I tell you what else I believe?” 

“Yes, do. You are so hopeful I nearly hope myself.” 

“I believe our wedding will take place just as we had 
intended,” said Mary, tipping her head to one side with 
the pretty motion that was natural to her, and which al- 
ways sent the blood tingling through her lover’s veins. 
At her words his face became illumined, and he exclaimed : 

“Ah! what joy if that were true. But how could it 
be?” 

“I cannot tell, yet; but I believe — ^Whatsoever ye ask 
in my name, — ’ ” and placing both her hands in those of 
her lover, she continued: “and I have asked in His name 
for my lord and king.” 

Charles stooped and kissed her on the forehead as 
reverentially as if she had been some shrined saint, as 
he murmured: “Oh, my love, my love! If one half you 
say comes true, I shall be the happiest man alive.” 

At this moment, Mary and Charles heard Trixey an- 
nouncing luncheon, which, on account of the commotion, 
liad been delayed past the usual hour; and they at once 
joined the general and Dr. Malridge in the dining-room. 

All Clinton gloried in Mabelthorp, and the people seemed 
to think it belonged to them. It was one of the show 


136 Mary Starkweather. 

places. The town had crept to its gates. There were 
two or three roads that led to it, and the gates were always 
open, and every one was free to visit the grounds. 

Mabelthorp was worth many thousand dollars more than 
the mortgage, and no one appreciated its monetary value 
more than Solmon. 

Wherever Solmon went, he was accompanied by his 
henchman, Jacob Straus. They were slowly driving to- 
ward Mabelthorp, now, and Solmon was saying to J acob : 

“Veil, I nefer care much for dot Sheneral Starkvedder, 
anyhow. He so stuck up. He tink it a shame to lend 
money at pig interest. Yet now, he most peg I lend him 
money, und if I sharge any kind of interest, it vould pe 
all right.” 

“Yaw, yaw. Beoples change sometimes,” said Jacob. 

They were now within the grounds of Mabelthorp, and 
Solmon cintinued: “Veil, veil! it vas a nice blace any- 
how.” And he gazed covetously around. “I nefer haf 
suppose such good luck vould pe mine. I don’t dink I let 
Tanks get a holt on dis fine blace a little vile yet. Ach ! 
vot a nice blace, after all, ven it pees mine, vich it vill 
be pretty quick now. I tole you vat, Yacob, such men as 
Sheneral Starkvedder ruin peesness. How see! he leve 
de gates vide open to dis fine blace. De beoples vould bay 
to see doze trees. Old Starkvedder, he nefer sharge for 
nodings. De beoples come and go, mitout money und 
mitout brice. He not efen haf a sign, ^Keep off der grass.’ 
How, you see dot high up, green ting, mit vines und 
flowers und dings,” said Solmon, pointing to what looked 
like a small mountain of trailing arbutus. 

“Yaw, I see him,” said Jacob. 

“Veil, vot you dink dot vas?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Jacob. 

“Veil, dot vas a sthump;” and Solmon laughed as if 


137 


A Strange Marriage. 

he thought it was a wonderfully good joke. "Tink, Yacob, 
of tressing an old sthump up like dot. De first Stark- 
vedder, vot come to dis country, he blant dot tree, und 
call it ^Eepose Tree’; und dey say it vas struck mit light- 
ning on der day of der first pattle of der Eeffolution. 
Und I, myself, haf seen beoples stand und look at dot 
old sthump, mit der eyes und der mout vide open, like it 
VOS an elephant in der circus.” And both Solmon and 
Jacob laughed immoderately at the idea. Then, Solmon 
continued : 

^^Und you see dot pig tree ofer dere, mit der little 
blate on der side, mit der seat made out of pushes? Veil, 
dot is Tntependence Tree,’ und dey say dot Shefferson und 
Atams sat dere, und talked der Intependence ofer. Und 
up in der house, dere is a baper, all scratched and marked 
up, dot tey say vas der first rough draft of der Declaration 
of Interpendence. Und down at Vashington, dey offer 
der Sheneral five tousand tollars for it, und vot do you 
tink? He say no. ^ Youst dink of it, Yacob ; five tousand 
tollars for a little, dirty, scratched-up baper. Und he say 
he couldn’t sell it. Dere is a dirty mark on it; und some 
von writed on der side : ^Made py Shefferson’s foot.’ Und 
I heard der sheneral say dot it vas sacred; und he keep 
it in a glass case, und let nopoddy touch it. Ha, ha, ha !” 
laughed Solmon. 

^^Some beoples vas tarn fools,” said Jacob. 

^‘Yaw, Yacob, dot vas so; und up dere at der house, 
dey got a whole bile of dings, und ven dey vas going to 
hafe der pig Centennial at Phillimitelphia, it take four 
showcases to hold der dings vot der sheneral lended to der 
Exposition. Von large showcase vas full of olt rags und 
trash.” 

^^Olt rags! Vat vas dey for?” asked Jacob in surprise. 

^^Sure enough, vat vas dey for? Und yet, I heard 


138 Mary Starkweather. 

beople say dey vas vort more dan der veight in gold. 
Der sheneral had little clean vite cards tacked on each, to 
say vat dey vas. Now, vat you tink vas on doze cards? 
On von old boot it said, ‘^Cut from der frozen foot of von 
of Vashington^s prave soldiers at der Battle of Trenton. 
Frank Samuels."^' 

^^Vas he a pig sheneral?” asked Jacob. 

^^No; yost a common soldier. TJnd dere vas a dozen 
old dings like dot — von old jacket vull of pullet-holes; 
und der card said : ^Taken from der dead poddy of William 
Smith, at Saratoga.^ He vasnT an officer, eder. Put 
Sheneral Starkvedder say, almost mit tears in his 
eyes, dot efery man dot shed der plood in der Eeffo- 
lution und stood py Sheneral Washington, vas a hero; 
und dot he valued doze dings from der common sol- 
diers as much as der officers. Dey say der old house, 
during der Eeffolution, vas like a regular hospital. 
Oh, dey haf biles und biles of dings — efen dings 
dot perlonged to President Lincoln; und ven he could 
get a lot of money for dem, der sheneral say dey vos a part 
of his family, und he could not sell dem. Oh, he vas an 
offal fool. Und dot same year of der Centennial, der 
sheneral gif a pig Fourt of July celebration, in dese 
grounds. Und der beople come from all ofer — school- 
children from Phillimitelphia und New York. Und der 
sheneral, he brovide dinner for efery pody, mit parrels und 
parrels of lemonate, und wagon-1 oats of ice cream, und pig 
fireworks in der efening. Und he hire mans to go round 
nnd boint oud der trees, mit der little blates on, und tell 
all apout dem to der shildren. Some mans make pig 
speeches, und say der American eagle alvais hoffer ofer 
Mabel thorp on der Fourt of July. And der sheneral, he 
sharge nodings at all. I vos tolt it cost him tousands und 
tousands of dollars to put der blace in order, afterward; 


139 


A Strange Marriage. 

for some of der beoples tried to carry avay der trees. But 
der sheneral sharge nodings, und just say: ^Oh, ve must 
pe batriotie !’ He vas a fool, a tarn fool, und ruin pees- 
ness; for he gif eferyting, und sharge nodings. I dels 
you, Yacob, ven I get der blace, I make pig shanges.” 

‘‘Veil, vat you do mit it?” asked Jacob. 

“Veil, der first ding I do, I kill doze pet rabbits und 
squirrels, und wring der necks of dose pirds they have 
up dere in dot glass house ; und I dink doze pig trees make 
good firevood und lumber.” 

“Veil, tole you, don’d do nodings of der kind. Shut 
up der gates, und you can make pig interest on your money, 
just to show der blace. Und I hope you keep some dings 
to trink, and some nice pretzels,” said Jacob, who wars 
now beginning to feel thirsty. 

“Py shingoes ! dot vas a good idea, Yacob !” exclaimed 
Solmon with a laugh, slapping him on the shoulder. “You 
should pe a sheneral. I dinks, ven I get dis blace, I make 
it in a pier garten. Ha, ha, ha !” laughed Solmon. “It 
pe a nice blace for der guality to come. Ha, ha, ha! I 
vender vot olt Starkvedder would say to dot, Yacob; his 
family mansion vich he say his olt ancestors pilded, a pier 
garten to make money to poot in der bocket of oTH Isaac 
Solmon, der money-lender, ha, ha, ha !” And Jacob joined 
him in his mirth. 

“Und der beoples,” continued Solmon, “can trink der 
pier under Constitution Tree, und Boston Tea-Party Tree, 
und Emancipation Tree, und sit on der same seat vat 
Lafayette und Vashington und all der odder olt fools sat 
on. I dink dot a fine idea. For you know, ve must pe 
batriotie, Yacob,” derisively laughed Solmon, again slap- 
ping Jacob on the back. “I guess ve hear der American 
Eagle squeal some more, right avay, pretty quick!” 

They both seemed to enjoy this immensely, and laughed 
heartily over it. 


140 Mary Starkweather. 

^And dot white-faced Miss Mary sneered J acob. 

"^Yaw, Miss Mary/’ said Solmon echoing the sneer. 
‘‘I vender vat she say about doze shanges vot I intend to 
make.” 

They reached the house. General Starkweather saw 
them from the library window, and came out on the ve- 
randa. 

‘‘Good day, Mr. Solmon,” said the general. 

“Goot morning, Sheneral Starkvedder,” said Solmon, 
very humbly taking off his hat and bowing very low. “I 
hopes I see you veil, Sheneral Starkvedder. I tinks I come 
around und pay you a little friendly visit, und dake a look 
at der blace, und see if you pin aple to raise der money yet. 
I hope you have. It vould pe a great pity to see dis fine 
blace go out of der family, my dear sir.” 

“There, there, Mr. Solmon, there is no need for us to 
waste words in idle talk. I think I comprehend fully the 
meaning of your friendly visit. So, we will come to the 
point at once. I am sorry to say I have failed to raise 
the money dtie you, and I fear I shall be obliged to let the 
law take its course.” 

“Dat is too pad! dat is a pity. I vas so very, very 
sorry.” 

“You may step into the house, and we will arrange the 
details without further delay,” said the general. His face 
was set and white as he led the way to the library, where 
he had left Charles and Dr. Malridge. 

At this moment, Sidney ascended the steps, and, as he 
entered the door, he saw Mary coming toward him. She 
looked surprised at seeing him. He was exultant. He 
would have, at least, the pleasure of seeing her humbled. 

“Excuse me. Miss Starkweather, but I came at the re- 
quest of my mother, who wished me to bring to her house 
the woman who took refuge here this morning.” 


A Strange Marriage. 141 

^^Why did not your mother come for her ?’’ asked Mary, 
was not convenient, and she requested me to do 

so.’^ 

^^Mr. Banks, the woman came to me this morning, and 
asked for protection^ because she was penniless and home- 
less. I gave it to her. She told me you had offered her a 
position, but that she preferred not to accept it.^^ 

Was this the woman he thought to so successfully hu- 
miliate? Here was Mary, cool, calm, a beggar, standing 
between him and the object of his passion. 

‘^Why should you take her in? She has no claim upon 
you."" 

^^Her womanhood gave her a claim upon me,"" replied 
Mary. She did not intend that he should know that Mrs. 
Multon had left Mabelthorp. She could trust the serv- 
ants, and they already had been instructed to say noth- 
ing of what had occurred. She was so self-possessed, 
Sidney could not understand it. He had expected to find 
her in tears. It was exasperating. He could hardly con- 
tain himself. As he stood there, both he and Mary could 
hear Charles expostulating with Solomon. 

^^Miss Starkweather,"" said Sidney^ know your posi- 
tion. You have ruin staring you in the face. You can- 
not give help nor protection to this woman. My mother 
can give both."" 

Mary"s face flushed; but before she could reply, Mal- 
colm dashed into the house, half crying, half laughing, 
exclaiming, as he rushed to the door of the library: 

^^Oh, Miss Mary! Oh, General Starkweather! Hurrah, 
hurrah ! Such news — such glorious news ! What do you 
think ? Mabelthorp is saved !"" 

^^Saved !"" exclaimed Sidney, forgetting himself. “Even 
now, Mr. Solmpn is here to foreclose the mortgage."" 

“You are right, my dear sir,"" chimed in Solmon. 


142 


Mary Starkweather. 

so fast, you miserable old imp of Satan/^ said Mal- 
colm, doubling up his fist and going for Solmon. 

‘^^Malcolm, Malcolm V’ exclaimed Mary and the general. 

^^Oh, don’t be alarmed^ sir,” said Malcolm, turning to 
the general. “You see, the strangest sort of thing has 
happened. You know the old piece of ground that is mine, 
down in Tennessee — ^that my father left me — that had 
nothing but briars and stones on it ; that I have offered to 
sell time and time again for a hundred dollars? Well, 
they have found copper on it, and the Commonwealth Min- 
ing Company have offered me fifty thousand dollars for it. 
They pay me the money next week. We will save old 
Mabelthorp, thank God !” 

^^Not if I knows anything about it,” said Solmon. 

^Tt is too late, Mr. Solmon,” said Mary. “God has 
heard our prayers, and in a few days you will have your 
money.” 

Forgetting craft in his greed and anger^ Solmon now 
launched forth menacingly ; for he hated these proud Stark- 
weathers almost as deeply as Banks did. 

“I cannot vait. De money is due now. I durn your 
old ancestral hall into a pier saloon — Mabelthorp Piei 
Garten. How vill dot look over der entrance? It vill 
addract gustomers, I think. Ha, ha, ha !” 

^TTou old devil !” cried Malcolm, springing toward him, 
“if I had you outside the house, I’d throttle you.” 

The general sprang between them, and laying his hand 
on Malcolm, pushed him back. How he loved this honest 
soul for his loyalty. 

^^ou trow me out, would you ?” exclaimed Solmon. “I 
vill pe master here pretty quick, and den, I vill trow you 
oud, and your precious master and mistress vid you.” 

But at this moment, a buggy dashed up to the door. 


A Strange Marriage. 143 

and Harry sprang up the steps just in time to hear Solmon’s 
last words. 

‘^Hot much, you old Shylock. Here are your ducats, 
and the pound of flesh is safe !” 

Sidney stood staring at the interruption. There were 
a few seconds, after Harry thrust the check into Solmon’s 
hands, before any one seemed to take in the situation. 
Then Sidney saw the whole structure of his vengeance 
totter and fall. Colonel Eversoll and Dr. Malridge sprang 
to the generahs side, each seizing a hand, with the simul- 
taneous exclammation : ^^Why did you not tell us?” 

Mary fell weeping into Charles’s arms, and he drew 
her quickly into an adjoining room. Harry was beaming 
joyously. 

It was a crucial moment. Sidney never forgot the 
picture to the last day of his life, the great love for each 
other in the faces of those three men. And for once, his 
overbearing manner and ready tongue failed him. In the 
presence of those men and their great truth and loyalty, 
he stood abashed and baffled- It was now several years 
since he had thrust his sword into the Starkweather wheel 
of fortune. It had been dulled before by defeat. How, 
it had snapped at the hilt. 

Ho one paid the slightest heed to him. He turned 
away and walked through the drawing-room. He was in 
hopes he might see Mrs. Multon. He heard Malcolm 
shouting the good news to the servants, and saw them cap- 
ering and crying for joy — ^heard them trooping into the 
library. He had come here expecting to see tears and 
sorrow. Instead, he saw dignifled silence. How, that the 
danger was past, there was tumult everywhere. They all 
seemed beside themselves. 

Sidney sat down and reviewed the case. He had schemed 
for months. Mary, Mrs- Multon, Mabelthorp — all he 


144 


Mary Starkweather. 

had planned for — were swept completely and forever from 
his grasp ; and he found himself helpless. 

In his time, Sidney had succeeded in doing a world of 
mischief. His plans had been successful with others. He 
could not understand it, and he began to have a supersti- 
tious feeling about it. He could not understand that evil 
fell to naught on those enshrined in Truth. And yet, this 
atmosphere contained what he most coveted. 

It was the first and only time in his life that he ever 
felt wholly and entirely defeated; the first time that he 
had felt that money could not accomplish everything. He 
was subdued for the first time. But the snake was scotched, 
not killed. 


f 


The Triumvirate. 


H5 


CHAPTEK IX. 

THE TRIUMVIRATE. 

The three men who stood there with clasped hands, were 
almost like brothers. They had been boys together; after- 
ward, in college together; and still later, they had been 
comrades and brother officers in the same regiment in the 
Civil War. Nature had been prolific with all three, bestow- 
ing different gifts on each. Colonel Eversoll and Dr. 
Malridge were rugged as oaks, while General Starkweather 
was tall, slender, and strikingly handsome. He was a 
very prince among men, this proud descendant of an old 
house. There was an odd charm about him. He was 
.brilliant, yet reticent, and shrank from notoriety and gen- 
eral contact with the world in a way that only was equaled 
by the avidity with which his two friends courted it. 

When college days were over, the general’s two friends 
had gone forth to bear the brunt and battle with the 
world, each according to his own light. General Stark- 
weather had returned to the care of his estate that had 
come to him by inheritance. By nature, he was a student. 
When the war was over, he returned to his books that he 
had relinquished only when his country was threatened. 

Those years of turmoil had served to cement, even more 
closely, the bonds of friendship between these three men. 
Dr. Malridge, with his great head and massive figure, 


146 Mary Starkweather. 

with the strength and vigor of a Hercules, was out in 
the world, fighting with the will of a Joshua of old, for 
what he deemed to be for the right and good of man- 
kind. His oratorical brilliancy, beautiful imagery, and 
dramatic style were only too familiar to the public. His 
noble conceptions in the realms of thought, his religious 
idealism, regarded by him as the only true and potent 
source of mental and spiritual sublimity, and his venera- 
tion for things orthodox were known and honored through- 
out the English-speaking world. There was no apathy, 
no numbness of the soul, in this grand man of large gifts 
and burning energies. He had that surer, higher faith 
in what he stood for. This religion of his, which was to 
him undefiled and incorruptible, claimed and had all the 
energy of his splendid powers. He loved his two boy- 
hood friends as only a man of his character could love, 
and his most poignant sorrow was the stand Colonel Ever- 
soll had taken in regard to Orthodoxy. He acknowl- 
edged the great intellect of his friend; but what was this 
man’s intellect if he knew not God? And to know God, 
in Dr. Malridge’s opinion, was to be orthodox. The as- 
sertion of the colonel as to the God of Hature, did not 
satisfy him. He did not think that light and air and the 
world beautiful were God. These were simply God’s 
attributes. The colonel might be high-minded, virtuous, 
and pure with little or no avail. He positively shuddered 
to hear him express himself, at times, in what he consid- 
ered the most blasphemous terms. And his great hope 
was to see this man receive what he believed to be the true 
Spirit of God. His great concern in regard to the colonel 
can better be appreciated by giving the reader an extract 
from a letter written by Dr. Malridge to General Stark- 
weather, after hearing Colonel Eversoll, for the first time, 
launch forth in his denunciations of Orthodoxy: 


The Triumvirate. 


147 


feelings, at the moment, may be imagined; but 
I cannot describe them. Never did such sensations agitate 
my soul, as I heard the terrible words that burned like 
scorpion-stings in their blasphemous denunciation. I 
thought of the scenes of our boyhood. I thought of the 
cradle of religion in which he had been rocked by his pious 
father and mother, and of their tender, fostering care, 
through which they had endeavored to install into the 
minds of their children, those pious principles that had 
comforted and guarded their own darkest hours of ad- 
versity; and through which they hoped to prepare their 
children to face the cares and anxieties that press down 
upon all those who sail their barque on the stormy sea 
of time, and which, in the hour of misfortune and dis- 
appointment are the only things in man’s tempest-tossed 
life that can buoy up his strength and courage, soothe and 
comfort him, and land him safely where tempest and 
sorrow never come — Vhere the wicked cease from trou- 
bling, and the weary are at rest.’ 

^^As the tear of sorrow stole down my cheek, while 
listening, I could only pray for him, that when the end 
came, when he was shrouded in the sorrow, misfortune, and 
disappointment of an unfruitful life and ungarnered ener- 
gies, he would then, if not before, turn for consolation to 
the God of his fathers.” 

And now let us turn to the last of the triumvirate — 
Colonel Eversoll, who had set himself the task of investi- 
gating things. This earnest, highly gifted man also had 
an international reputation. As a lawyer he had achieved 
eminence and had earned an exalted standing enjoyed by 
few at the American Bar. But he was more widely known 
as the ^‘modern Tom Paine,” and for his stand against 
^"Orthodoxy and the Church, with its softening of the brain 


148 Mary Starkweather. 

and ossification of the heart,” and for his tongne and pen 
which were sharper than a serpent’s tooth; as with the 
great battering-ram of his logic, he assailed the creeds 
and dogmas of the orthodox religion. 

How strange that these two men, reared in the same en- 
vironments, playing as boys together, again as college chums 
and later as men, when the war cloud hung heavy over 
their country, had clasped hands, shouldered their guns, 
and faced the enemy, side by side; both grand, vigorous, 
and forceful — how strange that they, should be so near, yet 
so far apart — so like, yet so totally different ! 

Both had attained phenomenal success; both had out- 
stripped youth’s ambition ; both felt they had a mission to 
perform; both earnestly sought the upliftment of human- 
ity ; both were absolutely without fear ; both possessed great 
individuality ; both were brilliant orators ; both were stirred 
by the loftiest impulses; both were great in their achieve- 
ments; both had stood the storm of censure and the blaze 
of adulation; both loved the beautiful in man and Nature; 
both were overflowing with a wealth of exalted sentiment ; 
both were idealistic and poetic; both were adorned with 
conspicuous virtues ; both had drunk deep from the golden 
cup of Success. Yet no two battle-ships ever assailed each 
other in mid-ocean with more tremendous force than did 
these two men assail each other. It was like two great 
thunder-bolts. One heard the roar of artillery, the clash 
of arms, and saw the flash of Are. And nothing pleased 
the doughty colonel more than to stir up his old friend 
and comrade. They always met with drawn swords. 
Neither spared the other. The colonel’s opinions were 
like the bitterness of gall to Dr. Malridge, and his terri- 
ble arraignment of this man who assailed his orthodox 
beliefs, was tremendous in its power, and only equaled by 
the force and brilliancy with which his arguments were 


The Triumvirate. 


149 


hurled back by this magical orator as he ravaged the em- 
pire of orthodoxy with invective and logic, in thunder 
tones that thrilled all who heard him, and carried con- 
viction to the hearts of many, as he poured forth the honest 
beliefs of a soul that refused to be fettered. 

The keenness of his satire was like stinging nettles to his 
opponent, as he riddled the pet tenets long held in venera- 
tion. Eightfully interpreted, none could fail to see that 
he honestly tried to be just. His enemies said he tore 
down, but failed to build up. Shall both assertions be ad- 
mitted ? 

He hated hypocrisy and shams, and rent the veil that 
hid them. He tore off the strait- jacket of respectable 
creeds, and garroted the devil of Orthodoxy, and put out 
the fires of hell. Strangled dogmas were as thick around 
him as ^^serpents around the cradle of Hercules.” 

These are the things that he has torn down, and in their 
stead, he has built an independent temple in the brain 
of every man who rightly understood him. It is founded 
on the Eock of Common Sense, built of bricks made from 
Eeason; and within, on the high altar chiseled out of 
marble from the quarry of Tolerance, Love is enthroned 
as queen. On her head, she wears a crown, jeweled vdth 
immortelles, wrought from the smiles of little children. 
In her right hand, she bears a torch in whose bowl the 
flame is fed by the chrism of marital chastity ; and in her 
left hand she holds a scroll on which is written ^^The 
Beclaration of the Free.” Her handmaidens are Justice, 
Truth, and Mercy. 

Not build up? Was ever fairer temple reared by hu- 
man energy and brain? And all the storms of bigotry 
and floods of religious intolerance can beat upon its walls 
through all eternity without avail. And that for which 
he stands shall live when he shall sleep. 


Mary Starkweather. 


150 


CHAPTER X. 

WILLOW SPRINGS. 

Eight years have elapsed, and another June day has 
come; and, just at this moment, the strongest aspiration 
of society is for cool retreats where wave and woodland are 
to be found. For the early summer, especially. Willow 
Springs is ideal. Besides, in the last few years, it has be- 
come quite popular for the ultra-fashionable set to so- 
journ here for awhile, before going to Newport or any 
other fashionable resort. 

Willow Springs is very exclusive, and it is whispered 
abroad that the medicinal properties of the water are 
marvelous for removing the effects of late hours, cham- 
pagne, theatres, operas, balls, and late breakfasts of a 
long season; and in fitting those that indulge therein, for 
a whirl of gayety elsewhere and for the coming season. 
Therefore, as Willow Springs has been made fashionable, 
it is a success. Many are already here, and daily their 
numbers are increasing. 

On this beautiful J une morning, the sun shines brightly, 
the birds sing blithely, the winds whisper gently through, 
over, and about, one of the most exclusive family hotels at 
the Springs. It is situated far back from the road, and it 
is sheltered by beautiful shade-trees, underneath which are 


Willow Springs. 151 

rustic seats and gaily colored hammocks. A beautiful 
lawn slopes in every direction, and on either side an im- 
mense fountain throws cooling sprays into the air. From 
the house, shaded walks lead directly to the springs. There 
are great wide doors and windows, all open to admit 
the breeze; and a broad piazza along which are strewn 
inviting chairs and divans. Indeed, it would be difficult 
to find a more alluring retreat than the Willowby Best 
Hotel. The autocrat presiding over it, is a Mrs. Pres- 
ton — fair, fat, and forty. Does one wish to engage rooms 
in this charming house? He must show either a long 
pedigree, or be vouched for by some one with a pedigree; 
or he must possess an unquestionable and respectable bank 
account. No stray wayfarers can find entrance here. The 
law is as immutable as that of the Medes and Persians. 

On this special morning, the sumptuously appointed 
drawing-room looks very inviting. Near one of the open 
windows, where the wind, moistened with the spray from 
the fountain, wafts its cooling breezes, a man sits, reading 
the morning paper. He is in an invalid’s chair on wheels. 
One foot is heavily bandaged and propped up on a rest 
attached to the chair. He drops the paper, and looks out 
of the window. It is our old and valued friend. Colonel 
Eversoll. He is watching a battle between a small boy, 
eight or nine years old, and his nurse; for a moment 
the nurse seems victorious, but the boy is simply over- 
powered on account of her superior strength. She is heap- 
ing upon him all the invectives that her limited vocabulary 
contains. The little fellow seems either too proud to cry, 
or, possibly he knows it will do no good, and is making 
a desperate fight for his liberty by way of scratching and 
hair-pulling. At last, he seizes her hand in his teeth, 
she gives a cry of pain, and relaxes her hold. In- 
stantly, he is off, with a defiant laugh of victory, and a, 


152 Mary Starkweather. 

ringing, ironical shout at the nurse’s threats to har® him 
punished. 

The colonel had watched the entire battle, and laughed 
when the little fellow got the best of his opponent- His 
sympathies were with the child^ and he said mentally: 
^^Gritty little devil. He deserves better treatment.” 

He was just about to resume his newspaper, when Mrs. 
Preston bustled in and inquired effusively: ^^Good morn- 
ing, Colonel Eversoll. Hid you rest well last night?” 

“Ho; not altogether. The last part of the night my 
foot pained me a good deal. Change of weather, I think. 
I find my foot a good barometer. By the way, the Thorn- 
tons come to-day, do they not ?” 

“Yes, I am expecting them now. They were to come on 
the early train,” said Mrs. Preston, glancing out of the 
window. 

“I feel impatient to see them, and the little one, whom 
I have not seen since she was three years old. She was a 
beautiful child. They say she never cried like other 
children.” 

“The Thorntons are old friends of yours, I believe.” 

“Oh, Lord, yes ! I knew Thornton when he was in short 
trousers, and his wife when she was in pinafores,” replied 
the colonel. 

“Really? How interesting! I understand he is very 
talented in his profession, and in a political way.” 

“Yes, I think he is. I have just been reading a speech 
of his. It doesn’t seem but yesterday that Charles was 
playing marbles, and now, he is our next candidate for 
Congress. Thornton is a bright fellow, and has gone 
straight up in his career. But if there is anything in 
blood he ought to; He comes of good old stock.” 

“How glad I am to have such people in my house,” 
sighed Mrs. Preston. 


Willow Springs. 153 

"Oh! by the way, Mrs. Preston,” exclaimed the colonel 
with a twinkle in his eye, "I think I will charge you a 
commission.” 

"How so ?” queried Mrs. Preston. 

"Well, you see, it’s this way,” said the colonel, assum- 
ing a business tone, and pretending to look very serious. 
"When your husband was alive, I knew him well, and know- 
ing you had this house, I came here.” 

"Yes, I see,” said Mrs. Preston laughingly, ^^Dut where 
does the commission come in?” 

"Just you wait,” said the colonel. "Dr. Malridge wrote 
me about his sister’s illness. I wrote and advised him to 
bring her to Dr. Cline, and recommended your house. 
Harry Burbank came here to be with me, for I am his 
attorney. And now the Thornton’s are coming. I know 
they are not sick, and I am trying to flatter myself that 
they are coming principally to see me. See?” interroga- 
tively exclaimed the colonel. 

"I think I do,” laughed Mrs. Preston. "The commis- 
sion is yours. Colonel. I give you carte 'blanche. Order 
what you like. The house, the larder, everything is at 
your command.” 

"Thanks. Generous, surely I I’ll make the larder 
suffer.” 

"But about Mrs. Tremaine?” 

^W^ell, what about her?” 

"I’m sure there is a mystery about that woman,” signifi- 
cantly replied Mrs. Preston. 

"She brought you good references, didn’t she?” 

"The very best.” 

"Then let her alone. If she has a secret, it is her own. 
Be generous, Mrs. Preston. She is certainly very beauti- 
ful and very interesting. The railway accident that was 
the cause of her little girl’s being a life-long cripple. 


1 54 Mary Starkweather. 

must have been a learfu. shock to her. She seems a de- 
voted mother.^’ 

^^But she is so silent, so distant. She won’t talk.” 

‘^What an admirable fault/’ laughed the colonel. 

Mrs. Preston had allowed herself ^^to take on fat,” to 
use the vulgar parlance of the day. She wanted terribly 
to be fashionable, but that could never be. She envied 
every woman' who could wear the low-bust corset-girdle, 
while she had to confine herself to the stiff-back, stiff-bust, 
straight up-and-down corset, in order that she might be 
able to tuck her superabundant flesh away in odd comers, 
and make it possible to get a respectable fit to her gowns. 
She had been told that fat had no excuse, but she did not 
believe it. She had secretly taken all kinds of anti-fat 
remedies, and had nearly starved herself, all to no purpose. 
She also had been told that fat and age come together. 
It was discouraging. She was a widow. She had ceased 
to sigh over the past and was looking hopefully to the 
future. She was very envious of this tall, willowy, beau- 
tiful, rarely-gifted woman, Mrs. Tremaine^ who, on en- 
tering a room, drew all eyes in her direction. The very 
frou-frou of her silken skirts nettled Mrs. Preston. 

Mrs. Preston was silent for a few moments, and then 
asked : ^^And Sidney Banks — what about him ? Are you 
responsible for him, too?” 

^^No, no ! not for Banks. I also have known him from 
a boy, but I don’t know why he came here, nor why he 
remains.” 

“Oh, I think it is very easy to see why he remains,” said 
Mrs. Preston, with a toss of her head, a lifting of her 
eyebrows, and a shrugging of her fat shoulders. “To see 
how he and Mr. Burbank follow Mrs. Tremaine around, 
is enough to make one sick. Mr. Banks makes no pre- 
tence of hiding his admiration. But Mr. Burbank is 


155 


Willow Springs. 

always trying to amuse and interest her little invalid daugh- 
ter, although it’s plain to see it’s the mother he’s after, 
even though she does pretend to avoid him.” 

^^Well, she does avoid him, doesn’t she?” 

‘‘Dear me! that’s just like you men. You can’t see 
anything where a handsome woman is concerned. Two 
millionaires dangling after her! But it’s plain to me 
which one she likes. Her avoiding Mr. Burhank is simply 
a ruse to draw him on. She is smart. It will end by 
making him her victim.” 

The colonel laughed heartily. ^^Don’t worry about Mr. 
Burbank, Mrs. Preston. His heart is a thing of ^shreds 
and patches.’ ” 

^^Oh, I don’t know ! I think he has a good deal of heart 
left.” 

“Well, if he has, it’s iron-clad, and has withstood many 
sieges. So don’t waste any sympathy on him.” 

At this moment Mrs. Preston looked up, and saw the 
servant ushering in Mrs. Thornton and her little daugh- 
ter, Gertrude. Hastily rising, she went forward, greet- 
ing Mrs. Thornton in the most complacent manner. 

“Ah ! Mrs. Thornton, I am delighted to see you, and so 
glad to welcome you to Willow Springs. I ho|5e you will 
like it.” 

“I am sure I shall,” cordially replied Mary. 

' “Here is an old friend of yours, I believe,” said Mrs. 
Preston, turning to the colonel. 

Mary hurried to the colonel, who exclaimed, as he clasped 
both her hands: 

“My dear, dear girl, this is a pleasure, I assure you. 
Since I received Charlie’s letter saying you were coming 
here, I have looked forward to your arrival as a ship- 
wrecked mariner looks for land. Well, well, well ! and this 


156 Mary Starkweather. 

is little Gertrude! My! what a big girl. How are all 
the folk? Where are your father and Charlie?^' 

‘^All well, thank you. Papa and Charles are both with 
me, and will be here in a few minutes. They were way- 
laid by some friends at the station, and Gertrude and I 
came up alone.^^ 

^^That comes of having a politician for a husband,’’ 
laughed the colonel. 

am willing to pay the penalty,” answered Mary, as 
she echoed the colonel’s laugh. ‘^But tell me, how are you 
getting along? Better, I hope!” 

^^Oh, I am all right, but this confounded gout doesn’t 
improve a bit. But I’ll not detain you. I hope we 
shall see a good deal of each other, now that you are 
here.” 

^^Of course we shall. To see you, was one of the plea- 
sures anticipated in coming here,” said Mary. 

Just as Mary turned to speak to Mrs. Preston, a tall, 
distinguished man entered from a room leading off the 
drawing-room. This was Dr. Cline, the resident physician. 
He crossed the room and was standing near Colonel Ever- 
soll as Mrs. Preston, evidently bent upon making an 
agreeable impression, smilingly said: 

hope you will enjoy your stay here, Mrs. Thornton. 
We have a great many delightful people staying with us, 
and your little girl will find so many lovely children to 
play with.” 

Just at this moment a fearful noise was heard outside 
and a child’s voice exclaimed: 

^'Let me alone ! Let me alone, T tell you !” and the 
little boy that had recently fought the battle on the lawn, 
dashed into the room, closely pursued by his nurse. The 
boy had an open penknife in his hand. He turned and 
faced the nurse, striking an attitude of defense, saying, 


Willow Springs. 157 

as the lightning fairly flashed from his eyes: ^“^Don’t you 
touch me ! I'll kill you if you do !" 

Dr. Cline laughed and said, sotto voce, to the colonel: 
^^This is a specimen of the nice children. That boy needs 
killing.” 

^Dh, you bad, wicked, awful boy!” said the nurse. 
^^Give me that knife.” 

‘^Keep away from me !” answered the boy resolutely. 

‘^You horrible boy, Carl Burton !” chimed in Mrs. Pres- 
ton, quivering with rage at the dreadful scene being 
enacted in her drawing-room^ in the presence of guests 
that she so much desired should nnd her home comme il 
faut. ril tell your father on you. Master Carl, and he will 
give you the worst whipping you ever had, you naughty 
boy 1” 

He turned upon her with the fury of a young tiger, as 
he exclaimed defiantly: 

don't care for you, nor my father, nor my mother, 
nor anybody, and you had better let me alone, I tell 
you.” 

^^What has he been doing now?” asked Mrs. Preston of 
the nurse. 

^^He stole that knife from Henry, the stable-boy, and he 
has been cutting and slashing with it. He shall give 
it to me this .minute, or I'll shake the very life out of 
him.” 

The boy darted past Mary, the nurse rushed forward. 
As she passed, Mary caught her by the arm and held 
her firmly, and then, without raising her voice, she said: 

^^Stop I let the boy alone. Don't touch him.” 

The nurse stopped as if she had been shot, and was ap- 
parently speechless, looking first at Mary and then at 
Mrs. Preston, as that lady said in a surprised voice : 

^Tndeed, Mrs. Thornton, you need not waste any sym- 


158 Mary Starkweather. 

pathy on that boy. He is bad, wicked, and vicious. No 
one can do anything with him. Yesterday, he climbed 
into an apple tree and sat there munching little green 
apples, and blazing away at every one that came along. 
One hit his nurse and nearly knocked her senseless. An- 
other took Dr. Cline on the side of the nose. He was so 
angry, he declared the only way to get Carl out of the 
tree was to shoot him. His father gave him a fearful 
whipping. He is the worst boy I ever saw.^’ 

“How can you say that, Mrs. Preston said Mary. 
Then, turning toward Carl, she said in a very kind, but 
convincing tone : “He is not a bad boy ; he is a good boy, 
I know, and would rather obey than disobey. Here, Ger- 
trude,” turning to her little daughter, “ask Carl to let 
you bring the knife to me.” 

Gertrude went unhesitatingly to Carl and said : “WonT 
you give me the knife, Carl?” 

The boy stood irresolute. Gertrude put out her little 
hand, and he allowed her to take the knife. Then, feel- 
ing himself humiliated and conquered, his beautiful black 
eyes filled with tears, and thrusting his fists into them, 
he was about to rush from the room, when Mary, lay- 
ing her hand on his head, said brightly and encourag- 
ingly: 

“Come, my boy, there is nothing to cry for. I knew 
I was right. You are a very good boy. We have just arrived 
and we have two of the loveliest pet rabbits. Come and 
see them, and help us find a place to put them.” Then, 
turning to Mrs. Preston, she said : “Mrs. Preston, I would 
like to go to my room.” 

'^Here, Aleck,” said Mrs. Preston to the servant that 
had ushered in Mrs. Thornton, and who was waiting near 
the door; “show Mrs. Thornton to the suite of rooms on 
the second floor of the east wing.” 


Willow Springs. 159 

^TTes’m/’ replied Aleck, taking up Mary’s satchel, and 
leading the way out of the room. Mary glanced in the 
direction of the colonel, and smiling, said: 

^^Adieu, until luncheon;” and quitted the room, taking 
both the children with her. 

There was none of the air of “See what I have done.” 
She had never raised her voice, although she had spoken 
firmly to the nurse. It was all done in the easiest, most 
natural manner. The boy had been completely conquered 
for the time being, by her kindness and gentleness. She 
had not said three words before he instinctively felt she 
was with him and not against him. It was the first time 
that any one had ever taken his part. He had become so ac- 
customed to being called bad, so used to punishment, that 
he was quite overcome and wanted to run away and hide 
himself for yielding. Wherever he had been forced to 
yield before, he had been taunted with it afterward. But 
when Mary laid her hand on his head, and when he 
glanced up in her face and found no expression of vic- 
tory, no air of having conquered him, only sweet solici- 
tude and love, the boy was ready to go with her any 
place. 

When Mary left the drawing-room, there was silence for 
a moment. Then the colonel said, as he watched the re- 
treating figure: 

“There goes another sublime specimen of the domestic 
animal that I love — woman; the noblest work of God.” 

“Was ever anything so humiliating?” indignantly ex- 
claimed Mrs. Preston. “To have that boy make such an 
exhibition of himself! I must really talk to his father 
about him. I can’t have this thing happen again. His 
mother wants him sent off to school, and that’s the only 
place for him. I can’t have him here.” And she bustled 


i6o Mary Starkweather. 

out of the room^ followed by the nurse, who, for once 
in her life, seemed to have been rendered speechless. 

^^If that kid were mine, I would strangle him and have 
done with it. Who is the lady queried Dr. Cline. 

^^That is the wife of young Judge Thornton of Clinton, 
iSlew Jersey,” replied the colonel. 

“Indeed ! She is one of the finest and handsomest women 
I ever saw. Is she sick ?” 

“Sick? No — perfect health.” 

“Perfect health ? What a wonderful woman. My ! and 
to see her get the best of that young hyena.” 

“I have known her all my life. As a child she was a 
regular spitfire. She seems, now, to be possessed of a 
sort of magnetic power, strong enough to get the best of 
any one. She is, in fact, a glorious woman,” said the 
colonel admiringly. 

“She is indeed,” assented Dr. Cline. 

The colonel sat looking out of the window at a group 
of ladies on the lawn, and the doctor was assiduously pol- 
ishing his eyeglasses. Then, as if a thought had occurred 
to him, the colonel said: 

“Oh, by the way, doctor, I see that the new sanatorium 
is all ready for the occupants, and your rivals are to take 
possession to-day or to-morrow.” 

“Eivals !” humorously exclaimed Dr. Cline. “Well, I 
like that! I am dreadfully afraid they will take all my 
patients.” 

“I hear a woman’s at the head of it.” 

“I imagine I see her now,” said the doctor sarcasti- 
cally; “some slab-sided, short-haired creature with bloom- 
ers and a wheel.” 

“Two or three wheels, no doubt,” laughed the colonel, 
significantly tapping his head. “ ‘Divine Healing.’ That 
is the inscription over the door. What bosh! There 


Willow Springs. i6i 

should be a law protecting people from such imposition. 
And to think a woman should be at the head of it. It’s 
bad enough for men to be imposters.” 

‘‘They claim to cure everything — from a bee-sting to a 
cancer,” laughed the doctor. 

At this moment Mrs. Tremaine entered the room, fol- 
lowed by the nurse wheeling her little daughter, Euth, in 
a chair perambulator. She inclined her head and mur- 
mured a morning salutation to the gentlemen as she passed 
on to the extreme end of the long drawing-room. 

“Cure everything,” said the colonel, continuing the con- 
versation. “Well, let them cure that child that you and 
a dozen other physicians have pronounced incurable, and 
I will believe it is Divine Healing myself. Holy Moses !” 
he exclaimed, invoking one of his favorite deities, “when 
I look at that mother’s sad face, and know, that perhaps 
her child may live twenty years or more, a helpless crip- 
ple, I could forget my own pain in sympathy for her. 
I had to leave the room yesterday after your final decision 
had been made known to Mrs. Tremaine, when the Eev. 
Dr. Malridge, in his efforts to console her, told her that 
it was God’s will. His will ! as if any God could condemn 
a little child to life-long suffering!” 

“Yes; so say I. Let them cure that child, and, as you 
say, I will believe in Divine Healing myself,” said the 
doctor, rising and consulting his watch. “But it is my 
office-hour, and I must away and he made his exit. 

The colonel resumed his reading, and had been thus 
occupied but a little while, when Billy, his black servant 
came in, grinning and showing a magnificent set of ivo- 
ries. 

“Well, Billy, I began to think you had forgotten me,” 
said the colonel. 

“Law, Massa Eversoll, yo nevah b’lieve that, shore. You 


1 62 Mary Starkweather. 

k'Qow, mighty well, I nevah forgit you. I jus’ tuk a little 
peek in hyar a few minutes ago, an’ you dun laughen’ an’ 
talken’ an’ I thought you habin’ sech a good time, I ’lows 
I wouldn’ ’sturb you. I’s already now, t’ take you dis 
blessed minute.” And Billy wheeled the colonel out into 
the hall where he got his hat for him, and trundled him oif 
toward the springs. 

The nurse was amusing little Euth, and Mrs. Tremaine 
was pacing to and fro near them. She was not only a 
beautiful woman, but very unusual looking. She had large 
black eyes, and raven hair that was parted in the middle 
and brushed back like two great wings, from her fore- 
head that was as smooth and as white as marble. Her 
face was full of character. It was a womanly face — a face 
to dream about. 

Gertrude entered the room, carrying a pet rabbit. She 
was evidently out on an exploring expedition, making her- 
self acquainted with her surroundings. She was an in- 
carnated joy. She had blue eyes, and golden hair that 
curled loosely over her shapely little head. She was 
rather tall for her age, and had just enough flesh to be 
dimpled. She was thoroughly alive and always busy with 
something. She was very natural, childlike and intelli- 
gent, and a regular little chatterbox. 

Little Euth had paralysis of the spine, and could not 
sit up; but she could turn her head slightly from side 
to side on the pillow. Seeing Gertrude, she exclaimed to 
her nurse: 

^^Oh, look ! there is a new baby girl.” 

Gertrude heard her, and going toward her said: ^^Oh, 
I’m not a baby ! I’m my papa’s little woman. Don’t you 
want to come and play with me? I’ll show you all my 
dollies.” 

Mrs. Tremaine ceased her restless walking, and said: 


Willow Springs. 163 

“She cannot play with you, dear, but you can bring your 
dollies here and play with them.” 

“Why can’t she come?” queried Gertrude. 

“She cannot walk, dear,” said Mrs. Tremaine, contrast- 
ing in her mind the sad condition of her own darling, 
little Euth to this rosy, healthy, bounding child. 

“Hasn’t she any feet?” questioned Gertrude. 

At this little Euth laughed merrily, and Mrs. Tremaine, 
kneeling down by the child, drew the afghan aside, and 
taking the diminutive feet in her hands, said, as she ca- 
ressed them: 

“Yes, dear. See ! She has two little feet, but she is lame 
and cannot walk.” 

Gertrude looked at Euth as if she hardly knew what 
to make of it. Then she sat down on the floor by Mrs. 
Tremaine, and passing her hands over the dainty little 
slippers, said, after a short silence: 

“But she shall walk. She shall be well and strong, and 
run and play with me. What is your name?” 

“Euth Tremaine.” 

“Euth Tremaine. Oh, that’s a pretty name, I think. 
Can’t your nurse wheel you out on the veranda? I have 
all my dollies out there and my rabbits.” 

“Can’t I go, mamma ?” said the little pleading voice. 

“Yes, dear,” answered Mrs. Tremaine. “Take her, 
nurse.” 

Euth put out her hand to Gertrude who took it, hold- 
ing it in hers, as she walked beside the perambulator. 
Mrs. Tremaine stood looking after them. The contrast 
between the two children was cruel, and more than she 
could bear, and her eyes filled with tears. 


164 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XI. 

HENRY BURBANK AVOWS HIS LOVE. 

Harry Drummond had now become Harry Burbank, 
according to the conditions of his uncle’s will. In fact, he 
had now borne the new name for eight years, and he had 
almost forgotten that he had ever known any other. He 
was a millionaire — a man of leisure. He was fatherless, 
motherless, sisterless, brotherless, wifeless, and almost re- 
lationless. Had he been very poor, undoubtedly he would 
have been even entirely without relatives, but being very 
rich, distant ones cropped up periodically. 

To Harry, Colonel Eversoll was father and brother, coun- 
selor and confessor. He had run down to see the colonel, 
intending to remain only a day ; but finding Willow Springs 
such a delightful spot, and the colonel very much in need 
of companionship — these facts, together with an incident 
that had occurred, made him conclude to prolong his stay. 
He had been been at Willow Springs six weeks already. 

The incident referred to, happened the first night after 
his arrival. He had gone to his room with a lighted cigar 
in his hand, and he determined to finish it on the piazza, 
where he could enjoy the night air. He stepped through 


Henry Burbank Avows His Love. 165 

the low window, and had just seated himself on the rail- 
ing, when a sound of suppressed weeping reached his ears. 
A bright light was shining from the window, next his own. 
The curtains were down. The sobbing becoming more in- 
tense, he arose and stepped nearer the window. There was 
a small opening in the curtain, and through it he obtained 
a complete view of the interior of the room, reflected in 
a large mirror against the wall. Seated in a low chair, 
with her face buried in her arms that rested on a table, sat 
a woman. She wore a soft, creamy silk neglige robe, 
profusely trimmed with lace. Her black hair was un- 
bound, and swept the floor. She was shaken with grief. 
The paroxysm seemed to increase rather than diminish. 
Suddenl}^, she sprang to her feet, and sweeping her hair 
back from her tear-stained face, exclaimed aloud, as she 
stretched her arms toward heaven : 

^^0, God, 0, God ! what have I done to deserve this 
punishment? I never sinned consciously. Then why, oh, 
why, should this be ? Smite me. Let me suffer ; but spare 
her. 0, God, spare my loved one At the last words 
the woman sank to the floor, choked with sobs, a quivering, 
stricken heap of grief. 

Harry had stood transfixed by the sight of this storm- 
riven soul. It was some moments before he realized that 
he was intruding upon the privacy of another. When he 
did, he turned quickly away and entered his own room. 
But sleep was driven from his eyes, and he could not shut 
out that figure with its arms stretched pleadingly upward. 
It had never occurred to him that any one could be beau- 
tiful in grief; but this woman most certainly was. He 
remembered the contour of the perfectly rounded hands 
and arms from which the loose sleeves had fallen. He 
recalled to mind how, as she sank to the floor, his first 
impulse had been to step through the window, to lift her 


Mary Starkweather. 


1 66 

up and comfort her ; and he really found caressing names 
springing to his lips. In fact, he had taken one step in 
the direction of the window, when he was recalled to his 
senses. He wondered who she was. She was very youth- 
ful, and if ever purity was. written on a face, it was writ- 
ten on hers. H^ld the whole world cried out against her 
and reviled her, it would have had no effect on him. Ho 
woman could look like that and be otherwise than pure. 
Strange; but Harry, though having stood the storms of 
managing mammas, designing women, and simpering maid- 
ens, now knew, somehow instinctively, that he had met 
his fate. Married or single, henceforth this woman would 
have an interest for him. He found himself thinking 
that one who could suffer such intense grief, would be 
capable of the most ardent love. And he felt that though 
it was against all precedent, he must go to her. He cursed 
the maker of forms that forbade him doing so, that pre- 
vented the offering of relief to a stricken, helpless creature 
in sorrow. But no. Instead of going to her, he must sit 
helplessly by, and know that though only the wall divided 
them, he was powerless. 

It was long in the night before he slept, and then, only 
to live over and over in his dreams the scene he had wit- 
nessed, and to find himself strangely and vaguely tangled 
up in the warp and woof of it. 

In the morning he determined to ask no questions, but 
to keep on the lookout for his fair incognito. All day he 
had scanned carefully the face of each woman he met ; but 
she did not appear. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon, he saw Dr. Mal- 
ridge and Colonel Eversoll sitting on the lawn, and he 
went forward to join them. He was close to them ere he 
was aware of a third party — a lady. She was sitting on 
a rustic seat and was leaning hack against the trunk of a 


Henry Burbank Avows His Love. 167 

tree. The colonel introduced Harry, who turned to bow. 
It was she! 

For the first time in his life, Harry was thoroughly 
disconcerted. He blushed like a schoolboy. Mrs. Tre- 
maine, on the contrary, was calm, dignified, and self-pos- 
sessed. Harry recovered himself, and took a seat near her, 
and the conversation became general. He hardly knew 
what was said; he only knew that she talked easily and 
gracefully, that her manner was perfect. Could this be 
the woman he had seen the night before so racked and torn ? 
It did not seem possible. What could have been the cause 
of the outbreak he had witnessed ? The colonel had called 
her Mrs. Then she was married. Was she ill-treated by 
her husband? Whom had she meant when she prayed 
God to spare her? So many things were surging through 
his mind that he dropped out of the conversation entirely, 
and sat mute as an automaton. He was suddenly recalled 
to himself by the nurse, who appeared with little Euth. 
He was wonderfully struck by the pathos in the child’s 
face. Her eyes were large and blue, and her hair black. 
She looked much younger than she really was. Such a 
little, patient face. He leaned forward and spoke to her. 
She caught his hand and held it, and looking up into his 
face for a minute, as if studying it, she said: 

^‘Kiss me.” 

Harry stooped and kissed her; when he lifted his head, 
he glanced toward Mrs. Tremaine. Her face was crim- 
son, and her eyes had a surprised, searching look in them, 
as she sought his face. He felt quite sure she had hardly 
given him a glance until that moment. When he saw 
the tender look in his eyes, she said: 

^^You are a favored individual, Mr. Burbank. I never 
before knew my little daughter to ask any one to kiss 
her. In fact, she decidedly objects to being kissed.” 


1 68 Mary Starkweather. 

no I don’t, mamma! I like you to kiss me very, 
very often, and I wanted the gentleman to kiss me, be- 
cause I like him, too. He is so noble looking.” 

“What a complimentary speech, my darling little dove,” 
laughed Harry. “From this moment, I am your true 
knight. You have only to command me, and I will obey.” 
He knelt before her, and kissed her hand. This delighted 
the child very much, and she laughed merrily. 

“My nurse has been reading to me about the grand 
old knights. Weren’t they brave to fight for the ladies?” 
Then, with a sudden thought : “Oh I but those knights wore 
their ladies’ colors, a glove, or a ribbon, or something. 
You will have to wear my color if you are my knight, won’t 
he, mamma?” 

“I think he will,” smilingly assented the mother, sur- 
prised at this sudden fancy, and at seeing Harry still 
kneeling, with amused face, at the feet of the child; yet 
very much pleased at anything that brought a ray of joy 
and forgetfulness of pain to her loved one. 

“How will this do?” said Mrs. Tremaine, detaching a 
little blue bow of ribbon that ornamented the child’s dress 
and giving it to her. 

“That’s just the thing,” said Harry, “and it’s such a 
beautiful color, just like my lady’s eyes.” 

“WTll you wear it forever and ever for me. Mister Sir 
Knight ?” 

Harry took the little hand that held the ribbon, and 
said gallantly, as he looked straight into her beautiful 
blue eyes: 

“I will wear it always, and I will be your own true knight 
forever and forever;” then kissing her hand again, he 
continued: But you must pin it on for me;” and leaning 
forward, Harry drew back his coat, and Kuth, taking a pin 


Henry Burbank Avows His Love. 169 

from her mother, attached the bit of ribbon to his waist- 
coat. 

‘^Now,’^ said Harry, as he arose, ‘^^yon must not forget 
I am your true knight, and am bound to obey all your 
commands;” and he bowed very low. 

Little Euth laughed and clapped her hands. This epi- 
sode had caused much merriment to all in the little group, 
and was the beginning of Harry’s acquaintance with Mrs. 
Tremaine. 

He learned she was a widow ; that the child had been in- 
jured in a railway accident while traveling abroad. He 
grew very much attached to little Euth. He brought her 
books and read to her, and amused her in various ways. 
Sometimes she would say: ^^Dear Sir Knight, do you still 
wear my colors?” And he would show them to her. 

One day the little face was drawn and pinched with 
pain. He came upon her suddenly. She lifted her beau- 
tiful eyes to his, and said: 

^^Dear Sir Knight, I have been looking for you. I 
thought you would never come.” 

He took her in his arms, and she put hers around his 
neck and nestled her head on his breast, as she said : ^‘Ne:^t 
to my mamma, I love you best, you are so good.” 

He held her for an hour while she slept. When the 
nurse told Mrs. Tremaine, the tears sprang to her eyes. 

Some days, he would come unexpectedly upon Mrs. Tre- 
maine, and she, for a time, would abandon herself to the 
hour. She was not the kind of woman that had nothing 
to say. On the contrary, she was a brilliant conversation- 
alist, and fond of Art and Literature. She was well read 
and had traveled extensively. Such hours were delight- 
ful to Harry ; but they were rare. Sometimes, days would 
elapse without his more than catching a glimpse of her. 
She had a piano in her room, and occasionally he heard 


1 70 Mary Starkweather. 

her singing. She had a rich contralto voice, beautifully 
cultivated. She never could be persuaded to sing in the 
parlor. One day little Euth said : 

^^Mamma only sings for me, in our room.” 

Harry grew discontented, ill at ease, positively unhappy. 
He was filled with doubt, not of her, but of himself. There 
had grown within him an overmastering desire for her. 
He knew she had a hearty but he doubted his power to 
reach it. He was certainly in love. He felt that his only 
happiness would be in possessing her. 

There was still a doubt in regard to Euth’s injuries. 
At first, the physicians had thought that there was no hope. 
Then, they concluded to try certain remedies, and held out 
a very faint hope to which the mother clung. 

The day came for the final consultation, and they were 
obliged to admit that there was no chance for recovery. 
The child might live many years, but she would be a help- 
less cripple. 

When the last thread of hope was snapped, it seemed to 
be more than Mrs. Tremaine could bear. She kept her 
room for days, and Harry felt that there was being enacted 
over again the same scene he had witnessed that first night. 
It nearly drove him mad. He longed to go to her. His 
arms ached to fold her in loving embrace. In short, 
his heart hungered for her, hungered to take her in his 
arms and tell her he understood her sorrow, and ask to 
share it with her. He wrote her a letter of condolence, 
carefully concealing his feelings. He sent her flowers and 
devoted himself to Euth, whom the nurse brought on the 
lawn each day for the air. He did everything he could to 
let Mrs. Tremaine know of his sympathy, and that she 
was in his mind. He received a beautiful note of thanks 
for his kindness. How he treasured it — the first and 
only thing he ever had received from her. He read it 


Henry Burbank Avows His Love. 171 

over and over. She wrote a strong, bold hand, as full of 
character as her face. 

Mrs. Tremaine again had made her appearance among 
the guests ; but Harry had been unable to get a word with 
her alone. Several times, after performing some little 
office for Ruth, the look of gratitude in the mother’s face 
•sent the blood tingling through his veins, and started a 
strange commotion in his heart, wholly unknown to him 
before. His mind was a chaos. 

Harry entered the drawing-room, unobserved, just when 
Gertrude was talking to Ruth. He sat where he was 
concealed from them by the piano. He felt sick at heart. 
He leaned his head listlessly and wearily on his hand. 
He was wishing he might speak to Mrs. Tremaine alone. 
He heard her grant Ruth’s request, and watched the chil- 
dren leave the room. He waited a moment, then arose, 
intending to go to her. She was sitting in a large arm- 
chair, with her back to him. She held her handkerchief 
to her eyes, and he saw she was weeping. He hesitated 
to intrude upon her. But his longing got the better of 
him, and going up to her, he leaned over and pronounced 
her name: 

"My dear Mrs. Tremaine.” 

His voice was like the touch of a galvanic battery. She 
started up, and made an elfort to recover herself, and 
said : 

"Oh, Mr. Burbank ! I beg pardon. I did not see you. 
How weak you must think me !” 

"Indeed I do not. You would be less than human if 
you did not feel as you do. I am so glad of this oppor- 
tunity to speak to you alone; to be able to tell you of my 
sympathy.” 

"You are very kind. I appreciate it, believe me.” 


172 


Mary Starkweather. 


All this seemed so trifling. His heart was overflowing, 
and he exclaimed : 

have wanted to tell yon more, to tell yon how dear 
yon have become to me/’ 

Rising hastily, she cried : ^^Yon mnst not speak to me like 
this! It is madness.” 

“Can it be madness for me to tell yon I love yon?* 
This is no sndden thing for me. I have loved yon for 
weeks, and lingered here to be near yon. Dnring this 
time I have learned to love yon as I never thonght it 
possible to love any woman.” 

“Oh, Mr. Bnrbank, I beseech yon, spare me I Do not 
say more!” desperately exclaimed Mrs. Tremaine. 

“Bnt I must tell yon how dear yon have become to me. 
Why is it yon shnn me so?” 

“Not now — ^not now. Yon mnst not say more now.” 

“It is trne I did not intend to speak of my love Jnst 
now. Indeed, there are reasons why I shonld not. Bnt 
when I heard the doctors’ verdict in regard to little Enth, 
and saw yonr sorrow, I conld refrain no longer. And 
now I ask yon to become my wife. Let me be yonr pro- 
tector, and help yon to care for yonr little danghter, of 
whom I have seen more than I have her mother, and for 
whom I already care as if she were my own.” 

His voice was trembling in its intense earnestness. 
His hand, his fortnne, all wonld be hers. Her child 
wonld have his care, his love. She heard it all. Her 
sonl was strnggling like a bird in a cage — strnggling for 
light and air and freedom. She stood with beating heart, 
breathless, hardly able to stand. She saw Paradise gates 
open for one brief moment, then close, as it seemed for- 
ever; as she remembered. For a moment her face had 
been illnmined; bnt it was only for a moment, and then 


Henry Burbank Avows His Love. 173 

the look was displaced by one of anguish that swept over 
it as she replied: 

“You know not what you ask. You must not talk in 
that way. Indeed you must not.” 

“Why not?” eagerly questioned Harry. 

“There are reasons why I cannot hear such words now. 
Believe me, I appreciate and thank you; but it cannot be. 
Eemember, you do not even know me.” 

“I know that I love you,” said Harry eagerly. “That 
is enough for me. I ask to know nothing that would grieve 
you. But I beseech you, tell me. Is it because you can- 
not love me?” he questioned anxiously. He was trembling. 
He was tortured with love and uncertainty. His heart 
was throbbing like a drum. 

She hesitated a moment, then turned to him, stretched 
out her hand^ which he clasped in his own as she said: 

“I can tell you this much: that I regard you more 
deeply than any one I ever have known. Your kindness 
and consideration during these weeks of suffering and 
suspense, have been very grateful to me, and I desire to 
express my gratitude. More than that I have no right 
to give; more than that you must not ask.” She turned 
away. 

“But Berenice, I ” 

“You say you love me?” 

“I adore you.” 

“Prove it. Go. Leave me.” 

He stooped and kissed her hand, then turned and left 
the room. He was as pale as death. He almost fell over 
a man whom he met at the door. He did not see who it 
was, he was so absorbed in his own feelings. 

When Mrs. Tremaine was left alone, she sank back into 
the chair from which she had risen, and said softly to 
iierself : 


174 Mary Starkweather. 

“He loves me, he loves me ! Oh, can it be wrong to 
joy in a love that never can know fruition?” 

For weeks past, her heart that had long beat tranquilly, 
would bound at a thought, and send the bright crimson 
to her cheek. All within her had suddenly wakened to 
life, kindling the deep passion of love. She knew, now, 
that what she had supposed to be love, was but the almost 
sisterly regard and pure affection of a girlish heart; and 
that it had not expired on the altar where this deep, absorb- 
ing love had sprung into life; but still burned and would 
ever burn in her soul — this true, deep love for that brave 
boy-husband. Set apart and sacred it would, ever be — 
pure and holy, the boy and school-girl affection. But 
now the woman had displaced the girl, and it was now 
the man and the woman, soul to soul. 

Could Harry have seen the look on her face, as she sank 
back on the chair, his heart would have been triumphant. 
But even as it was, her last words had sent a hope to his 
heart that she was not wholly indifferent to him. 

“She is the only woman I have ever loved. To win 
her and make her my wife shall be the goal for which 
I shall work.” 

He wrote her a note, begging her, for the present, to 
forget what had occurred, and that they might meet, as 
usual, adding that any other condition would render him 
most unhappy. He received a brief reply, complying 
with his wishes. 


The Reunion of Old Friends; 


175 


CHAPTEE XII. 

THE REUNION OF OLD FRIENDS. 

Charles and General Starkweather soon reached the 
hotel. The years had made but little change in either of 
them. The general was much the same — a trifle grayer, 
but just as erect, and still distinguished for his courtli- 
ness of manner and address. 

Mary’s troubles had passed over like the clouds that 
fret the summer sky. She was a little more of a woman 
and less of a girl. Nature had made her beautiful and 
good, and had given her a love for womanly duties and 
womanly tastes. Her face was like spring sunshine; her 
eyes as blue as the summer heavens. 

The love between Mary and Charles was such that it 
dominated each of their lives. It would be strong through 
life and strong in death. But they controlled it, nor 
allowed it -to make them selfish. 

As for Charles, he now was a full-fledged man, strong 
physically and mentally, and as optimistic as ever. His 
success had been phenomenal. He was said to have reached 
the ^Top notch” of his profession. The top crest of the 
wave of politics had caught him, and he had plunged 
in with a fervor that characterized all he did. Some pre- 
dicted that he would be carried off his feet, as is frequently 


176 ^Mary Starkweather. 

the case in sudden prosperity. But no. Cool and collected 
he stood, willing to see both sides, and ready to take ad- 
vantage only of whatever seemed to be best for his coun- 
try’s good. 

Charles had a maiden aunt, who, recently dying, had 
left him the bulk of her large fortune. The man to whom 
this aunt had been engaged, died, leaving her heir to all 
he possessed. At the time it did not seem to be of so 
much value, as it consisted mainly of land in the district 
now known as ^^Harlem.” But, as the city grew north- 
ward, this land increased in value until it made her a very 
rich woman. She never married. And, as Charles was 
her favorite nephew, after generously remembering other 
members of his family, she bequeathed everything to him 
— ^real estate, bonds and mortgages, and her palatial resi- 
dence on Fifth Avenue. There was a clause in the will 
stating it was his aunt’s desire that he should retain this 
residence for his personal use, and, if possible, for the 
descendants of his family. She had lived much abroad, 
and being a woman of superior tastes, she had collected, 
from tim^ to time, many valuable articles of virtu, treasures 
of Art. and of Literature ; and to visit her home was to have 
a glimpse of many rare and beautiful things. So, that 
now, in addition to Mablethorp, Mary and Charles had a 
handsome home in New York City. Charles had also 
recently purchased a place at Willow Springs for Mary, 
in order that she might carry out a project long in her 
mind; and they now had come to take possession of this 
new home. 

The general went to his room, saying that he would meet 
them in the drawing-room. 

When Mary saw Charles, she exclaimed : "Do you know, 
I believe I am childish in my eagerness to see our new 
home. Have you been over there?” 


The Reunion of Old Friends. 177 

^^Yes, and the furniture is all in. Almost everything 
is completed. I tell you, it looks fine, and I feel sure that 
you will be pleased with it. Malcolm and Trixey have 
done wonders. The contractors say it will be complete 
and in order, and that we can step into it Monday morning. 
All the servants are there, and the cottagers are arriving 
rapidly. Trixey says every one of your orders has been 
carried out. She says people are awful inquisitive about 
the place,” concluded Charles, laughing. 

^‘You would have laughed,” replied Mary, ^fif you could 
have heard the landlady, here, giving me a description of 
the place. They already have the most exaggerated re- 
ports in circulation.” 

^^What would they say if they knew you were at the head 
of it?” 

Mary laughed merrily as she replied: 

smile every time I think of what the denouement 
will be, when it is discovered. Just imagine Dr. Mal- 
ridge and Colonel Eversoll ! They are so far apart — and 
this is far from either of them. And then, Society!” 
and she held up her hands. ^‘My! won’t it be shocked!” 
Again her laugh rang out, and in it she was joined by 
Charles; for in their imagination they pktured the con- 
sternation of the friends. 

‘^However,” said Mary, recovering herself, think it 
just as well not to mention it until we are ready to take 
possession.” 

think that the better way,” said Charles. “We will 
just quietly go over there Monday morning, and take pos- 
session, and they can think about it after we are gone. 
By the way, there are hosts of our friends here. I hardly 
realized how popular Willow Springs was. I also met 
Sidney Banks, who is stopping here at this house. I be- 
lieve he grows handsomer every day. He was very pleas- 


1 78 Mary Starkweather. 

ant and wished me all success politically. I am actually 
ashamed of it, but I can never bring myself to trust him ; 
though now, I shall be obliged to meet him politically 
a good deal.” 

Although Mary was much the same in appearance, she 
had changed much in character. She was stronger, and 
had herself well in hand. The mention of Sidney Bank’s 
name, or the prospect of meeting him, did not affect her 
in the least. Of course, none of them knew how closely 
he had been connected with their disaster of eight years 
previous, and while they did not like him, they were too 
broad to allow personal feeling to sway them; and so far 
as outward appearances went, they were always friendly. 

^^Oh, well, dear, never mind! He cannot hurt us. 
Don’t think about it and she held up her lips for a kiss. 
After receiving it, she said, as she saw Charles removing 
his coat and making preparations for dressing: “I must 
find Gertrude. I will join you in the drawing-room;” and 
she flitted down the stairs and out on the lawn. 

Meantime, Billy had returned from the springs with 
his charge, and had left the colonel in his favorite nook 
in the drawing-room, near the window. After reading for 
a little while, the colonel had grown drowsy, and the cool, 
shaded room and quiet were very conducive to a nap. 
So, leaning back in his chair, and placing his paper over 
his face, he drifted away into the Land of Nod. 

Charles came down and stepping out on the piazza, 
stood for a moment, looking over the lawn for Mary. Not 
seeing her, he turned into the parlor. Coming from the 
bright light into the shaded room, he managed to stumble 
over a hassock; and in his efforts to recover himself, he 
struck the colonel’s foot-rest. This awoke that gentle- 
man, who, with a howl of pain, snatched up his cane and 
raised it to strike the transgressor, exclaiming: 


The Reunion of Old Friends. 


.179 


^^What in the dev By the Great Hornspoon and 

Isle of Saint Patmos and the Holy Mackerel ! If you do 
that again, I’ll brain you.” 

Charles skilfully dodged the blow, good naturedly laugh- 
ing, and exclaimed : ^^Hold on. Colonel, hold on ! You’re 
not Abel to Cain me yet !” 

^^By George! I don’t know about it,” groaned the 
colonel, writhing, and trying to laugh down his pain, as 
he shook Charles’s hand. ‘^This is my private Pull-man 
car, and trespassers are not allowed.” 

• “It’s a sleeper, too, it would seem,” laughed Charles. 
“So you’re laid up, eh?” 

“That’s just it. I’ve become a damned aristocrat, and 
have got the gout. It’s such a luxury!” said the colonel 
wincing with another spasm of pain. “After this, you 
be a little more careful, or you’ll hear me do a. little 
talented cussing.” 

“Well, well, I am truly sorry,” said Charles. “I hope 
you will soon recover.” 

“I hope I’ll soon be better, at least. I have had the 
comforting assurance from about a dozen physicians that 
I’ll never be well again; that I may have my good days 
and my bad days ; but, at my age, I cannot hope to entirely 
recover.” 

“Your age ? Why ! Colonel, you are still a young man.” 

“Thanks for the compliment ; but does this look like it ?” 
returned the colonel, smiling and running his fingers 
through his hair, and patting the top of his bald head. 
“But I confess this lame foot of mine is the first thing 
that made me begin to realize that I was growing old. 
It seems to be a family affliction. For generations back 
in my family, as far as I know anything about it, the male 
portion grew old, had the gout, and died ; and you see, 
I am just trying to keep up the family tradition.” 


i8o Mary Starkweather 

‘^Well, Colonel, this won’t do. You must get well — 
not better, but well. I’ll have to send my wife to talk 
to you.” 

any one could make me well, I think it would be 
she and her blue-eyed baby. Ah !• Charlie, old boy, I want 
to congratulate you all over again. Your wife is more 
charming than ever. I was here when she arrived.” 

^^And our little girl, has she not ” 

But he did not finish; for, looking up, he caught sight 
of Harry who had just entered the room. 

“Well, whom have we here ? Harry Burbank as I live ! 
Why, Hal, you old sardine, how are you?” This was the 
elegant greeting of Charles as he clasped Harry’s hand 
and clapped him on the back. 

“Charlie Thornton, by all that’s good! Of all men in 
the world, I would rather see you. Colonel, this is a 
pleasure.” 

“Yes, I knew they were coming, but did not tell you. I 
thought the surprise would be good for you,” said the 
colonel, eyeing him critically. 

“Well^ I think you’re right; it has done me good al- 
ready. Accept my thanks,” replied Harry, half laughing. 
“But where is your wife^ — ^your adored Mary?” 

“I hear her voice, now, on the piazza,” said Charles, 
going to the door and calling: “Mary, come and greet an 
old friend.” 

“Oh, Harry, how glad I am to see you !” exclaimed Mary, 
coming forward and giving him her hand in greeting. 
“Where have you been keeping yourself this long time?” 

“Oh, I have been bobbing about, the same as usual. 
This darling, how she grows,” said Harry, catching up 
Gertrude and kissing her. 

^^ell, I declare !” exclaimed the general, as he entered 
the room; “if this doesn’t look like a house-party!” and 


The Reunion of Old Friends. i8i 

he hastened forward to greet the colonel and Harry. The 
meeting between the colonel and the general was always 
fervent; but it was unusually so now, on account of the 
coloneFs affliction. 

The general drew up a chair, and Mary seated herself 
on a hassock, declaring she would sit at the feet of Wis- 
dom. Gertrude came up to the colonel, and began to 
snuggle up to him, as he put his arm around her, calling 
her his girlie-girlie. 

^^hat is the matter with your foot?” 

was about to ask the same question,” said Mary. 
^^Gertrude has anticipated me. Come, tell us all about 
it. Colonel.” 

^‘More than three years ago, I ruptured a muscle above 
the ankle-joint. For a while, by bandaging it, I got along 
pretty well. Afterward, it became swollen and was ex- 
tremely painful. For weeks I suffered intensely. The 
physicians thought, at first, it was due to the ruptured 
muscle ; but finally they decided it was gout. I have been 
on crutches nearly two years; have tried all kinds of 
climates and altitudes; have had a dozen physicians; have 
tried all kinds of medicinal waters; electricity; liniments; 
and everything. Finally, I came here to consult Dr. 
Cline, the celebrated German specialist, only to hear him 
confirm what the other physicians have said : that the dis- 
ease is so deeply rooted that I must not hope to get en- 
tirely well.” 

^^But you shall get well!” declared Gertrude, and put- 
ting her little hands on either side of his face, and strok- 
ing it gently, said earnestly : ‘^You want to get well, don’t 
you?” 

'T should say I do!” laughed the colonel, kissing her. 
‘T think I feel better already. The touch of these little 
hands is the best medicine I have had.” 


i 82 


Mary Starkweather. 

^^She will give you enough of that kind of medicine!’’ 
laughed the general. ^^She is a regular blarney. She is 
a romp, though^ and you would better keep her at arms’ 
length.” 

^^Oh, Grandpapa ! you’re a fibber,” cried Gertrude, flying 
at him, with radiant face, and giving him a number 
of small punches that he received with a great show of 
resistance, at last catching her in his arms and nearly 
smothering her with kisses; for this baby girl was the 
light of his eyes. 

Mary turned from this interruption to the colonel, and 
the general heard her saying: 

^^But we have you now, and are going to keep you, for 
the present, at least.” 

‘^It’s well you added the last clause. You can’t depend 
on him,” said the general in an amused voice. ^^You can 
only count on him for the present. I go up to town to 
see him, and hear he is in the Land of the Palmetto. I 
wander down there for a visit with him, and, incidentally, 
to enjoy the tropical climate, and find he is sojourning at 
the Golden Gate. It always makes me think of a lecture 
I once heard him deliver, in which he complained that the 
ghosts would not remain quiet long enough to be properly 
examined, but kept up an eternal flitting, flitting.” 

^^Colonel, I was not aware you were getting such a 
bad reputation,” laughed Harry. ^^You must reform.” 

^'Oh! he is not getting it; he always has had it. And 
as for reform it’s an inelegant adage, but a true one, that 
^you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,”’ said General 
Starkweather. ‘"Why, years ago, when he first thought of 
settling in business, he flitted from city to city — Boston, 
Chicago, Philadelphia, Hew York. I never have been 
able to tell why he chose Hew York.” 

“Chicago is such a thriving, go-ahead place,” said 


/ 


The Reunion of Old Friends. 183 

Charles. have always thought I should like it. How 
did it come. Colonel, that you did not remain there?” 

found that in order to become an orthodox Chicagoan, 
I must date the rise of my illustrious house from the great 
Chicago fire, and must have inwrought into my coat-of- 
arms, ^the Cow, the Kerosene Lamp, and Mrs. O’Leary.’ 
The honor was overwhelming. Besides, I could not stand 
the hells and smells,” humorously replied the colonel, in 
his characteristic manner. ^‘The smells were obvious; 
and while I did not see the hells, I heard about them — 
through the Eastern papers. They knew all about them, 
and they declared Chicago’s sins smelt to heaven. Why 
. after the great Chicago fire, it all came out what a terri- 
ble place it was. I did not dare to stay there for fear of 
contamination; and besides, I felt I was not equal to the 
missionary work that would be required of me. Why, 
even Boston wagged her Puritanic head and declared that 
the sins of the Windy City were as numerous as the stars 
in the firmament; and likened her scourging to that of 
Sodom and Gomorrah, declaring that she had to be purified 
by fire. Ko,” continued the colonel, “1 couldn’t stay in 
such a wicked place.” 

^“^But,” said Mary, thought Boston had a big fire soon 
after Chicago’s conflagration. It must have been rather 
severe to have their words come home to them so soon.” 

^^My dear child,” replied the colonel with much solemn- 
ity, Chicago might weep for her past transgressions, but 
with Boston it was different. They had but to fold their 
hands and take to themselves that beautiful and comfort- 
ing text : ^Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth !’ ” 

There was a general laugh at the colonel’s scriptural 
interpretation of the two great historical fires. 

^^But Philadelphia, what ” 

^^My dear Charles, I could not make an affidavit that I 


184 


Mary Starkweather. 

was even remotely connected with Penn, and that barred 
me out. And as for Boston ” 

‘^Yes, yes ! Tell us why Boston did noi suit you/^ 
queried Mary. ^^Dear, dear old Boston, how I love it! 
It is so broad, so liberal, so true.” 

^^Yes, my dear,” replied the colonel. ^^That’s true; but 
they’re so devilishly aware of it !” 

^^But I should have thought their liberality would just 
have suited you to a very large T,” Mary remarked. 

don’t know about that,” replied the colonel doubt- 
fully. ^“^Boston always makes me think of the Episcopal 
Church, which makes such broad claims to liberality. 
When you go to join it, though, you find out you are obliged 
to believe in the Creed and the Trinity. So it is with 
Boston. You must believe in the Boston Trinity and the 
Boston Creed, or be damned Bostonially.” 

This assertion brought another laugh and eager inquiries 
as to what was contained in the Boston Creed. 

^^Well, before you can become one of the elect,” answered 
the colonel, ^^you must be able to stand in the center of 
Copley Square, and, with your head uncovered and your 
face turned toward the Back Bay, you must solemnly say: 

T believe in the infallibility of Boston, and am will- 
ing to be judged thereby. I believe in Boston being the 
Hub round which the universe revolves ; and in the spokes 
therein, which represent every known branch of culture, 
science, and all esthetic arts. I believe implicitly in Bos- 
ton’s past and future’ — now, interpreted in English, that 
means the quick and the dead. — T believe in green bags 
for gentlemen, and gray bags’ (full of God knows what) 
Tor ladies. I believe in the Holy Back Bay.’ Now, when 
you say this, you must make three salaams. Then you must 
say the Trinity: 

“ T believe in the holy, nutritive, and intellectual qual- 


The Reunion of Old Friends. 185 

ities of Baked Beans and Brown Bread, and in the one, 
only, and infallible newspaper in the world. The Boston 
Evening Transcript/ 

^‘Then you must make four more salaams to the four 
quarters of the globe. When you have done this, you are 
then fit to enter into the Holy of Holies and all the Myster- 
ies therein. I am told it^s wonderful when you get it. But 
it was too intricate for me. I couldn’t stand it,” declared 
the mirth-provoking, jolly colonel. 

The colonel’s humorous analysis of Boston’s and Chi- 
cago’s requirements, was greeted with a shout of laughter, 
and he looked around, surprised to find that there had 
been an addition of three persons to their number since 
he began. They were all young, and known to those pres- 
ent: Miss Isabel Stevens, of Boston, Miss Edith Brandt 
and Eichard Braintree, of Hew York — the two last being 
leaders in Gotham’s smart set. 

On entering the room and hearing the colonel’s voice, 
they had enjoined silence until he had finished. Then 
they all came forward, laughing heartily. The colonel 
grasped Miss Stevens’s hand, exclaiming: 

^^What an old duffer I am! — awfuly stupid of me, and 
I take it all back.” 

^^Oh, I’ll never forgive you,” she answered with a smile, 
‘Tor maligning Boston, only on one condition.” 

“Pray, what is that? I am ready to do anything ex- 
cept get on my knees, and I’d do that, if it weren’t a physi- 
cal impossibility.” 

“Tell us why you chose New York.” 

“Oh, that’s easy !” exclaimed the colonel. “You know, 
I had been likened to a wild beast, a devouring lion. And 
as soon as I got into the menagerie, among the Bulls and 
Bears, I recognized the truth of it ; for I felt perfectly at 
home. In New York, it’s every fellow for himself, and 


1 86 Mary Starkweather. 

the devil catch the hindmost. So, there always is a scram- 
ble for front seats. You know, it keeps things lively. 
Am I forgiven?’^ asked the colonel of Miss Stevens. 

Her answer was lost in the laughter and the separating 
of the little group, as they adjourned to the dining-room 
for the midday luncheon. 

Their entrance caused quite a flutter among the other 
guests. 

One incident occurred, during luncheon, worthy of men- 
tion. At the table, Mary occupied a chair between Harry 
and Gertrude. Harry heard Gertrude telling her mother 
about Kuth. He felt what a boon the friendship of such 
a woman as Mary would be to Mrs. Tremaine; and when 
Gertrude exclaimed: 

‘^Dear mamma, as soon as dinner is over, you must go 
with me to see the little girl and her beautiful mother.” 
Harry said: 

^^Let me join my entreaties to Gertrude’s.” 

Then he gave Mary a full account of little Euth’s ill- 
ness, and finished by saying: 

^^The child is such a patient little sufferer, that she has 
quite won my heart ; and her mother is so deeply attached 
to her that she has suffered agonies of suspense. How 
that she knows that the case is hopeless, you can imagine 
what a state of mind she must be in. And I bespeak for 
her your tenderest sympathy.” 

^'She shall have that, and my best endeavors in relief 
of pain to her dear one. You must take me to her at once,” 
said Mary, rising, for they now had finished luncheon. 

Harry did not quite take in the full meaning of Mary’s 
words when she said: ‘Tn relief of pain;” but he said 
warmly : 

knew I could depend upon you.” 

Mary excused herself from the rest of their party, and 


The Reunion of Old Friends. 187 

she and Harry went to a small sitting-room on the second 
floor, where Harry wrote a note to Mrs. Tremaine, telling 
her he wanted her to meet a friend of his, and asking her 
to bring Euth. 

Mrs. Tremaine soon made her appearance, followed by 
the nurse with Euth. Mary was sitting with her back to 
the door. Mrs. Tremaine had a bright flush on her face, 
and was evidently a little nervous at meeting Harry so 
soon after the event of the morning. Mary arose as 
Harry said: 

^^Mrs. Tremaine, let me present you to my best friend, 
Mrs. Thornton.” 

Mary stepped forward and took her hand. For one 
brief instant, Mrs. Tremaine stood as if rooted to the spot. 
She had turned deadly pale. Then, by a mighty effort, 
she recovered, and murmuring Mary^s name, she sank into 
the chair that Harry hastily brought forward. He thought 
her agitation due to meeting him. Mary thought it was 
due to over-anxiety and watching. Neither guessed the 
true cause. Yet, Mary kept saying over and over in her 
mind: 

^^Who is it she reminds me of ? — such a sad, sweet face.” 

Harry excused himself and left them together. 

When Mrs. Tremaine realized that Mary did not associ- 
ate her with the woman of eight years previous, her self- 
possession returned, and she chatted freely with her about 
Euth. How her heart went out to Mary ! She could 
hardly restrain her tears, as she listened to her words of 
solicitude. She knew it was real, true, womanly sym- 
pathy, and not curiosity. Mary sympathized deeply with 
Mrs. Tremaine — Just as she had eight years before. And 
it touched this lonely woman’s soul, now, as it did then. 

When Mary arose and asked Mrs. Tremaine to let the^ 


i88 


Mary Starkweather. 

nurse take Euth to her room and leave her there for a 
while, she gladly cons.ented. 

When Mary reached her rooms, she found Charles 
stretched on the lounge in her bedroom, near an open 
window, with his coat off, and looking decidedly sleepy. 
He held out his arms to her, and pulled her down beside 
him, saying: 

^‘What is it, little woman? What did you and Harry 
run away from us for?” 

Mary kissed him fondly. Then, as she listlessly passed 
her fingers through her hair, she told him all about Euth. 
saying: 

“Come. She is now in the next room. Gertrude is 
with her. I have sent the nurse away. We must concen- 
trate our energies, and see what we can do for this child. 
Her mother says she sleeps very little, and she can see 
that she is wasting away daily. We must try to relieve 
her.” 

They arose and passed into the next room and sat down 
by the child. 


The Awakening of Mr. Burton. 


189 


CHAPTER XIIL 

THE AWAKENING OP MR. BURTON. 

Mary was fond of Willow Springs. She had longed for 
a place of her own there; and at last her desire was to be 
gratified. She had spent this first day agreeably, for she 
had met many friends and acquantances at Willowby Rest, 
and others were staying at the various hotels and cottages. 
The day had been close and sultry; but, as the afternoon 
waned, a light breeze sprang up that diffused a delicious 
coolness throughout the atmosphere. It was most welcome. 
Mary had made an early toilet, intending to descend to the 
lawn where she could enjoy the change in the air. She 
always dressed well. It was an art she thoroughly under- 
stood; therefore, she was never overdressed. She was one 
of the few women that always looked elegant, even though 
her dress might be simple. She was looking particularly 
well on this evening. She was gowned in creamy lace 
through the meshes of which the silken sheen of the lin- 
ing gleamed. Her neck and arms were bare save for their 
covering of lace. A high collar was held in place by an 
elegant brooch set with turquoises and pearls. A few 
creamy roses with pink hearts were pinned on her breast. 
The wavy gold-brown hair was brushed back anl loosely 
coiled on her neck. It would be a weary journey one would 
have to take before finding her equal. 


190 Mary Starkweather. 

Her tall, slender figure was exquisitely moulded. Her 
skin was pink and white and smooth as satin. She was un- 
questionably and unmistakably feminine. There is a marked 
difference in a woman with strength of mind and a ‘^strong- 
minded^’ woman. Mary had strength of mind. Under 
that unassuming, womanly dignity by which she was dis- 
tinguished, was a latent power. One saw it in the poise 
of her head, in the firm, elastic step; but, most of all, in 
her beautiful, long, slender, white hands. Hever w^ere 
hands more eloquent. There were whole volumes in them. 
They were so strong. They were the kind of hands that, 
prompted by a noble heart, could draw one up to heaven; 
but serving an evil soul, could cast one dovm to hell. She 
was a remarkable woman. Her manner constantly grew in 
impressiveness; and to stand in her presence, was to feel 
her influence and power. 

Mary was anticipating a delightful summer. She was 
making a higher effort than merely to kill time; and a 
smile of contentment and pleasure illumined her face as 
she thought of it. 

Her reverie was disturbed by her maid who brought her 
a card. It was from Charles, asking her to come to the 
drawing-room. She hastened to obey the summons, and 
found him talking to a gentleman whom he introduced 
as Mr. Burton. Mary soon discovered he was the father 
of Carl. 

Charles had been slightly acquainted with Mr. Burton 
for a long time, and was quite surprised to find him 
located at the Springs. After a few moments of conver- 
sation, Charles arose and said: 

“I am going to leave you and Mr. Burton to become ac- 
quainted; and you will excuse me, as I have a gentleman 
waiting to see me in the office;” and he left the room. 

Mr. Burton began conversation by apologizing to Mary 


The Awakening of Mr. Burton. 191 

for Carl’s rudeness. A full account of the scene in the 
morning had been repeated to him by both the nurse and 
the landlady, and evidently greatly embellished. Mary 
thought the least said about it, the better, and merely re- 
marked that no apology was necessary, and that she was 
much interested -in the child. She was about to turn the 
conversation into another channel, when the voice of a man 
speaking to Carl, who was playing in the vestibule, came 
to them: 

^There you are, you young rascal !” 

^^Well, what is it to you? It’s none of your business, 
smarty,” quickly responded Carl. 

^^There, did you hear that !” exclaimed Mr. Burton with 
an ugly frown. And, in a twinkling, he had Master Carl 
by the arm, and had started with the struggling child to- 
ward the stairs to take him to his room. From the look 
in the father’s face^ Mary could easily guess what would 
follow. It was an awful moment for her. She, a stranger, 
to interfere between parent and child, looked like pre- 
sumption, and had so much the air of, ^^See, I am better 
than thou.” But in her strong sense of justice and right, 
she instantly forgot everything else, as she saw the child’s 
terror-stricken face as the incensed parent dragged him 
along. She was at Mr. Burton’s side instantly, and plac- 
ing her hand on his arm, she exclaimed in a voice of sup- 
pressed excitement: 

‘^Mr. Burton!” 

What was it in the voice that arrested the man’s ac- 
tion? He relaxed his hold. 

^^Mr. Burton, will you let me take Carl?” And in- 
stantly the boy clung to her. 

^^Gertrude,” she called to the child, who, hearing Carl 
scream, had appeared on the scene, ‘Vill you go with 
Carl to my room and remain until I come? Go, Carl,” 


192 


Mary Starkweather. 

she said, pushing him toward the stairs, which the boy 
quickly mounted, only too glad to escape. 

^^Mr. Burton,” said Mary in a trembling voice and with 
heightened color, must ask your pardon for my inter- 
ference in your affairs; but I could not help it.” 

^^Don’t apologize, Mrs. Thornton,” said Mr. Burton in 
a kindly voice. “I presume you are like lots of women — 
couldn’t bear to see the boy whipped. But it’s the only 
thing that will do in Carl’s case.” 

^^Oh, it was not so much the thought of the physical 
suffering, although to me that is awful. It is the terrible 
injustice of it.” 

^Tnjustice ? My dear madam, I appreciate your tender- 
ness of heart, but you don’t understand him. For one 
of his age, he is one of the most headstrong, wilful boys 
I ever saw. I cannot have it. He shall be obedient and 
respectful to his elders, if I have to tan the skin off his 
back.” 

Mary, glancing up, saw in the determined look on his 
face, and the flashing of his eyes — the iron will of the 
man. Then the thought of the wilful boy who was an 
exact reproduction of the father, and she felt that life 
between these two, would be war to the knife. Could she 
say an3rthing? Could she do anything? Had she not 
heard, already, the child exclaim to the landlady, in a 
fit of defiance: “I don’t care for you, nor for my father, 
nor for my mother, nor anybody.” With a desire for 
strength and guidance to help both father and child, she 
asked : 

‘^hy are you not as ready to defend the child as to 
punish him?” 

^^Defend him?” asked Mr. Burton in a surprised voice. 

Against what?” 

Against insult and imposition.” 


The Awakening of Mr. Burton. 193 

‘Trom whom?’^ questioned Mr. Burton. 

‘^Did you not hear the child insulted?” asked Mary. 

^‘My dear Mrs. Thornton, the man that spoke to Carl 
was Dr. Cline, our physician, and a perfect gentleman.” 

‘^All the more reason Carl was justified in resenting 
it,” stoutly replied Mary. 

‘‘But my dear madam. Dr. Cline did not mean anything 
unkind, and CarFs impudence was unpardonable.” 

“Not more so than Dr. Cline’s uncalled-for remark. 
How did the child know he did not mean it? I think 
Carl did know he meant it — just as I know he meant it. 
But it’s a way even well-bred people have of speaking 
to defenseless children. No matter what their opinion 
might be of a grown person they would not dare express 
it; but the bravest men, even, have a way of speaking in 
this manner to helpless children. It’s the acme of coward- 
ice. I have been here only a few hours; but in that 
time, I have heard a dozen expressions, such as: ‘There 
goes that little rat.’ ‘He is the worst kid in seven coun- 
ties.’ ‘Little snipe !’ These from the landlady, his nurse, 
and even the servants. And I say boldly that I like and 
admire Carl for defending himself, as it would seem he has 
no one to defend him. He has in his little body the 
material of which heroes are Inade.” 

Mary had not raised her voice; but it was intense with 
suppressed excitement. The color deepened on her cheek, 
as it always did when she was greatly agitated ; and at this 
moment her sensitive nostrils quivered, and her eyes flashed 
with righteous indignation. Her control was wonderful. 
Mr. Burton sank into a chair and gazed at her. She 
looked like a queen as she stood there, the soft folds of her 
lace gown clinging to her figure. 

“Pardon me,” she said hastily, “I have not intended to 


194 Mary Starkweather. 

interfere in your affairs; but I am interested in Carl, 
and 

She hesitated. Mr. Burton still sat gazing at her. 

‘^May I keep Carl with me a few days ? It may be a re- 
lief to his mother.’’ 

‘^You may,” he said without removing his eyes from 
her face. 

A low murmured, “Thank you;” and she turned and 
left the room. 

Mr. Burton did not move for a minute; then he ex- 
claimed : 

“My God, my God ! and I thought I was doing my duty.” 
He buried his face in his hands. 

Edward Burton was a man between thirty-five and forty 
years of age; cultured, quiet, and reserved. He was pos- 
sessed of the highest ideals of duty and justice; he was 
also possessed to the fullest degree of the sense of the 
responsibility imposed upon him in the bringing up of 
a boy. 

He married early in life the daughter of a Southern 
planter. She was like a tropical bird, joyous and gay, and 
he was passionately devoted to her. When Carl was two 
years old, they were spending a week in the country. There 
was a swing near the house in which his wife was in the 
habit of sitting by the hour, reading. One day, becoming 
weary of her book, she flung it aside and called to one 
of the negro servants that happened to be passing, to 
swing her. He gave her a push that sent her flying through 
the air; and laughing, she called to him: 

“Higher! Swing me higher!” 

Mr. Burton was reclining on the grass, under the shade 
of a tree, reading. He looked up at the sound of his 
wife’s voice, and she exclaimed: 

“This is delicious. I feel as if I were flying!” 


The Awakening of Mr. Burton. 195 

As she uttered the words the rope broke, and she fell 
to the ground. 

It would be impossible to describe the anguish that 
came to Mr. 'Burton when his wife was picked up for dead. 
He had never known his capacity for suffering until then. 
To him, this precious little wife seemed the other half of 
his soul. 

Friends said that it was his tenderness that had kept 
her alive, and he had heard this and believed it', and took 
great pride in it. To keep all care from her was the ob- 
ject of his life, she had been such a sufferer. But now, 
his pride suddenly was torn to shreds. He was passing 
through a storm of feeling new to him. 

In the mad rush of business events, and in his anxiety 
for his wife, he had had little time to think of the child. 
He supposed force to be the only way to control Carl. 
He was such a perplexing, noisy, rollicking youngster. 

Mr. Burton sat thus, for a while, with his head bowed. 
Then he arose and went to his room. 

If Mrs. Thornton had flown into a temper, given him 
a lecture, and called him a brute, which he now felt that 
he was, it would have been a relief to think of it. But 
she did not. She had spoken to him as if he ought to 
be a thinking gentleman. She had spoken in defense of 
the child — his child that it was his duty to look after. She 
said that Carl had the stuff in him of which brave men 
were made. And how was he moulding that material? 
He was using force and beating him as a cruel master 
would beat a horse. Indeed, he would not beat his horse ; 
for he had studied horses, and knew that that was not the 
way to manage them. But how much had he really studied 
his boy ? He would come home, after a day’s worry with 
the details of business, to And a sick wife, whose querulous 
complaints of the child and the stories of disobedience 


196 Mary Starkweather. 

from the nurse would at once cause him to resort to the 
switch, without further inquiry. Only the day before, 
he had given the boy a terrible whipping for striking the 
nurse and hitting Dr. Cline with an apple. He reflected 
now, that as he sent the child from him to be put to bed, 
he had a satisfied feeling and a sense of duty done. 

What was it, in the few words spoken by this woman, 
that had tom the veil from his eyes and caused him to see, 
as if a panorama had been unrolled before him, the in- 
cidents connected with CarPs life from his birth? Sud- 
denly it seemed as if he heard the cry of terror in the 
child’s voice when he was about to be whippped. He 
heard — ^nay, felt — the stinging blows on the tender flesh; 
and he recalled the set look of sullen hate that came into 
the face of the boy as the cruel blows ceased, and he was 
sent supperless to bed. 

All this came vividly before him — and more ; he remem- 
bered the angriest he had ever been in his life was once 
when he found a groom whipping his favorite, high-step- 
ping, mettlesome horse. The man had the animal by the 
bit so that he was helpless, and was raining the blows 
upon him. That groom could never come near that horse 
again, and had to be discharged. Mr. Burton never tired 
of telling his friends of the intelligence and sensitiveness 
of the animal, and how, at the sound of the groom’s voice, 
he would grow restive, and snort and snap viciously. 

Why did this picture now unroll before him? He sud- 
denly realized that he had been treating his high-stepping, 
mettlesome boy the same way that the groom had treated 
his horse. 

‘^^God. 0 God. forgive me!” cried this man, as he sank 
on the sofa, and buried his face in his hands. He sat there, 
immovable, many minutes. But his mind was a whirl- 
wind. Ho one to defend his child Ho one to shield 


The Awakening of Mr. Burton. 197 

him from insult. He had nevei thought about a child's 
being insulted. But why not? Had they no title to 
respect from their elders? 

Suddenly he heard the voice of the nurse inquiring for 
Carl. He called her to him, and said: 

^^Carl is in Mrs. Thornton’s room. Go to Mrs. Thorn- 
ton and tell her that I want Carl for a few minutes; but 
that he may return.” 

He soon heard the nurse returning^ scolding the boy 
as they came along, saying: ‘‘Your father will give you a 
good whipping.” Then he heard Carl’s threat; 

^^Wait, Missy, till I get you alone. I’ll give it to you 
in the neck.” 

^^You will, will you?” exclaimed the nurse. ^T’ll tell 
him what you say.” 

"Tell him. Shoot off your lip for a week. I don’t 
care !” slangily exclaimed Carl in defiance. "Allee samee, 
everything goes. I don’t care for a whipping. I’d take 
one any day to get a chance to kick you.” 

But in spite of his defiant tone, Carl did not seem in 
a hurry to reach his father ; and there began a struggle be- 
tween him and liis nurse as she urged him along with 
threats of punishment. 

Mr. Burton had heard just this kind of talk before. 
Not a word of slang did Carl hear but he immediately 
adopted it. Mr. Burton had been greatly perplexed by 
it. Before, in such a scene as this, he only had seen a 
vicious, rebellious boy; and the punishment had always 
been harder for Carl. Now, the tones of the boy’s voice 
sounded different to the father. Although the language 
was bad, he only heard the boy standing up against the 
nurse for his own rights. Sure enough! What right 
had the nurse to threaten and domineer over him, espe- 
cially where others could hear her? He understood, in 


198 


Mary Starkweather. 

an instant, how the boy had been humiliated, and he won- 
dered he was not worse. 

Mr. Burton stepped to the door and called Carl. He 
took him by the hand and led him into the room, leaving 
him standing in the middle of the floor. Then, he sat 
down and looked at him. Carl stood in a sullen and de- 
fiant attitude, with his eyes cast down, expecting, no doubt, 
the whipping that he had escaped a little while before. 
Every fibre of his body seemed full of resentment, and, 
as the father looked at him, he realized how cruelly the 
child had been treated; and his heart went out to him 
in a great love and longing, such as he never before had 
felt for the boy. 

^^Carl,” said Mr. Burton, ^^Carl !” 

The second time he pronounced the name, the child 
looked into his father’s face with a strange, questioning 
look coming into his eyes at the changed tone of his father’s 
voice. 

^^Carl, come here.” And, as the boy still stood immov- 
able, Mr. Burton stretched out his hand, and said : “Come. 
Don’t be afraid.” 

Mr. Burton’s voice was one of entreaty. The child felt 
it, and stepped to him quickly. Mr. Burton placed both 
arms around the boy and hugged him close. For a mo- 
ment, there was stillness in the room, and thoughts and 
resolutions were born that floated straight to the great 
white Throne, there to remain forever as resplendent 
jewels. 

After a little silence, Mr. Burton loosened his hand upon 
Carl, and the child, looking down, saw something glisten- 
ins: on his hand. It was a tear. He had not been crying. 
Where had it come from? Drawing back, he looked into 
his father’s face, and saw his eyes were overflowing. In- 


• The Awakening of Mr. Burton. 199 

stantly his arms were around his father^s neck, and he ex- 
claimed in deep concern: 

‘‘Oh, don^t cry, papa. Fm not mad at you!” 

The child’s words pierced him like a sword-thrust. 
What love! All his harsh words and cruel blows for- 
given in a moment at the sight of his tears ! Had he been 
letting this great love slip away from him into an eternity 
of indifference ? Could any love be more unselfish or more 
perfect than this ? Again he drew his child to his breast ; 
and, as Carl rested his cheek against his own, he felt be- 
tween himself and boy, a silent sympathy, a thought-com- 
munion, a faith unbounded, and an understanding that 
needed no words nor explanations. Sitting there in the 
twilight of the room, it seemed as if the past shut up like 
a book ; and although so young, the soul of his child seemed 
to speak to his soul, and say: “Our joys, our sorrows, en- 
hanced or lessened, should be the same. Take me to your 
heart, and let Love be our guide.” 

Mr. Burton loosened his clasp, and tenderly brushing 
away the child’s tears, he stood the boy before him, and 
said : 

“Carl, you are now a big boy. You are now eight years 
old. I want to tell you something. Will you try to re- 
member it ?” 

At the word, hig, emphasized by his father, Carl visi- 
bly drew himself up, and replied, in his characteristic man- 
ner : 

“You bet your life, Fll remember.” 

“All right,” said his father, smiling. “It is this : Yes- 
terday I whipped you. I have whipped you a good many 
times, have I not?” 

“Yes, sir,” slowly said Carl, his countenance falling, as 
he remembered those whippings. Besides, this was not 
what he had expected to hear. He thought his father had 


200 Mary Starkweather. 

something nice to tell him; and now, he must go to talk- 
ing about old whippings and things. He hated whippings 
and his nurse and most everything, and didn’t want to 
think about them. His face darkened. Mr. Burton no- 
ticed the change in the child’s expression, and felt he could 
read what was in his mind. 

did it, Carl, because I thought it was the way to 
make you a good boy, so you would grow up into a good 
man. You want to be a good man, don’t you?” 

‘^1 guess so,” said Carl, half doubtfully. 

‘^My boy,” said Mr. Burton, taking the child by the 
hand, think I was mistaken, and I am sorry for every 
whipping I ever gave you. I promise you never to whip 
you again, and I want you to come here and tell me that 
you will try and forgive me for every blow I ever struck 
you.” 

Mr. Burton looked straight into the child’s eyes. It was 
all so sudden, such a complete change from anything he 
ever had experienced, that Carl was absolutely embar- 
rassed at this confession from his father. He did not 
know what to do or say. His face crimsoned painfully, 
and for the moment, a good sharp switching would have 
been a relief to the poor, bewildered child. He could be 
saucy and strike back, or submit in sullen silence to su- 
perior strength; but this sort of thing was too much for 
him, and his lip began to quiver. 

"You can t forgive me, just yet, I know,” said Mr. Bur- 
ton, drawing Carl to him and stroking his head ; "but you 
will promise me you will try, won’t you?” 

This was too much for poor, little Carl whose heart 
was hungry and starved for love and tenderness. And 
actually seeing tears again in his father’s eyes, he was 
in his arms in a moment, sobbing as if his little heart 
would break, saying: 


201 


The Awakening of Mr. Burton. 

‘^Oh, don^t cry-j papa. I don’t mind the whippings. I 
only love you a big lot, and I don’t care for anything at 
all, so I don’t.” 

Mr. Burton drew a chair to him, and placed the boy in 
it. Then he said : 

^^N*ow, Carl, I want you to think you are pretty nearly 
a man. I said I wasn’t going to whip you and I won’t ; 
but I want you to try and be an obedient, good boy.” 

^^All right,” said Carl, mopping his face with his hand- 
kerchief. 

‘^We won’t talk anything more about this now,” said 
Mr. Burton. ^T’m going to let you remain with Mrs. 
Thornton for two days ; but you must be good and not give 
her trouble.” 

Carl’s eyes began to dance at the mention of Marjr’g 
name. 

tell you, papa,’ exclaimed Carl, ^^she’s a peach — a 
regular utter.” 

Mr. Burton did not even chide Carl for his slangy ex- 
pressions; but merely smiled indulgently. As he touched 
the bell, Fanny, the nurse, appeared, and he said : 

^^Brush Carl up in good shape. He is going back to Mrs. 
Thornton’s room;” and as Carl bounded out of the room, 
he added in a very decided tone: ^T don’t want to hear 
Carl fighting with you. See that you take care not to 
brush his feathers the wrong way.” 

The words were said pleasantly, but there was a pecu- 
liar tone to the voice that puzzled Fanny. She was con- 
fident that Carl had not been whipped. 

Carl was in a rather subdued frame of mind, and happy, 
for three reasons: First, because he was going to return 
to Mrs. Thornton’s rooms where he was sure he was going 
to have lots of fun. Second,, his father wasn’t mad at 
him. Third, there were to be no more whippings. His 


202 Mary Starkweather. 

father had told him so. That was enough. He did not 
doubt it for a minute. He wished Fanny knew; but his 
instinct told him it was something sacred between him- 
self and his father. When, however, she gave an un- 
necessary pull to his hair, and, with his usual impulse he 
retaliated, and she exclaimed: 

^Tarl Burton, if you don’t hold still. I’ll tell your 
father and he’ll tan you good,” it was with a good deal of 
satisfaction that he said: 

^^Now, if you hold your breath until he does tan me, 
you’ll never get it again.” 

He said this with a victorious little taunt in his voice 
and a happy gleam of defiance in his eye; for Carl was a 
little, human, everyday boy, with a lot of ^^Old Adam” 
in him. And it was quite impossible for him to become 
a full-fiedged angel in an hour, like the good little chil- 
dren we read about in books. 

When Carl returned to his father, Mr. Burton gave him 
a note he had written to Mrs. Thornton, and Carl was off 
for her room like a shot. 

Mr. Burton went to the office and sent the following 
telegram to an intelligence office in New York: 

“Send me, at once, a kind woman, who is fond of chil- 
dren; one that is capable of teaching a boy eight years 
old. Liberal salary. Not accepted unless with the best 
of qualifications and references.” 

He then went to his wife’s room, and found her re- 
clining on a couch, in the middle of the apartment, and 
beside her sat her nurse, fanning her. 

Mrs. Burton was a dainty little thing. She was dressed 
in a loose gown of rose silk with lace trimmings; on her 
feet were dainty satin slippers. Her face, that w^as deadly 


203 


The Awakening of Mr. Burton. 

white, was framed in by a mass of closely curling, jet- 
black hair. She looked up as he entered, and exclaimed in 
a childish voice: 

^^Oh, Edward ! Where have you been so long ?” 

^‘1 am sorry not to have come before, but I have been 
looking after Carl,^’ said Mr. Burton, sitting down beside 
her and tenderly taking her hand. 

“Oh, that dreadful boy she exclaimed. “I tell you, 
Edward, he gets worse and worse every day. He has been 
perfectly dreadful to-day.^’ 

“Never mind Carl, now, Kitty. I guess he will be all 
right.^^ 

“No, he won’t. Mrs. Preston told me of the awful 
scene he caused in the drawing-room this morning. It 
was disgraceful. There is just one thing, Edward: You 
must send him off to school. A good, strict master will 
bring him to his senses^ perhaps. He needs a whipping 
every day. I can’t have him near me, he makes me so 
nervous.” 

Mr. Burton winced. His wife’s words seemed so piti- 
less; in fact, monstrous. But he said gently: 

“Now, Kitty dear, don’t fret about Carl. I am going 
to attend to him; and we will do in the future whatever 
seems best for him. We will talk it over by-and-by. For 
the present, he is all right. Mrs. Thornton has taken a 
fancy to him, and wants to keep him for a few days.” 

“Taken a fancy to Carl !” exclaimed his wife in aston- 
ishment. ‘‘Who ever heard of such a thing?” Then she 
laughed. “That’s the first person I ever knew to take a 
fancy to Carl. He seems to be the pest of the neighbor- 
hood. I have often wondered whom he takes after.” 

“Not after you, surely. If he is bad he must inherit it 
from me,” said Mr. Burton gallantly. 

“This Mrs. Thornton must be an odd sort of person.” 


204 Mary Starkweather. 

the contrary, she is anything hut odd. She is a 
very elegant and beautiful woman, with a noble heart. 
Some day you must meet her.^^ 

At this moment the servant entered with their dinner; 
for Mr. Burton rarely dined away from his wife, and Carl 
took his meals in the nursery, as he invariably upset his 
mother’s nerves. 

As Mr. Burton drew his chair to the table and helped his 
wife, there came to him, very vividly, a picture of a child 
taking his solitary meal to the accompaniment of the fault- 
finding voice of Fanny. As an infant, it had been cus- 
tomary for him to take his meals in the nursery ; and as he 
grew larger this habit had never been changed. Had 
any one told Mr. Burton, twenty-four hours previous, that 
he was an indifferent and unfeeling parent, he would have 
resented it. Yet he was now convinced it was so. 

Carl had every comfort that money could procure. He 
was sent regularly to church and Sunday-school. Having 
no mother’s care, he always had had a good, strong wom- 
an to look after him, to read to him, to see that he was 
properly groomed. He was sent to all appropriate places 
of amusement, and provided with all kinds of toys and 
story-books. What more could any one do? Yet, Mr. 
Burton reflected, that instead of sunshine, the child had 
lived in the darkness of night, and his days had been cold 
and cheerless. He had been under a system of petty re- 
straints and privations; of severe looks, incessant chiding, 
and corporal punishment He might as well have been 
brought up in the Desert of Sahara, so far as love — with- 
out which our lives are valueless — was concerned. It was 
wholly absent from his life. 

Never before had Mr. Burton been so absent minded. 
He hardly heard the weak chatter of his sick wife. Sel- 
dom was such change wrought in a man in so short a time. 


205 


The Awakening of Mr. Burton. 

It seemed as if his life had been completely revolutionized 
in an hour. Mary, with her beautiful personality and 
purity of expression, Carl and his wrongs, his suffering 
wife, all were whirling in a chaotic jumble through his 
brain. 


2o6 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE CHATTER OF CARL AND GERTRUDE. 

When Mary left Mr. Burton, she returned to her room. 
She was not sorry that she had interfered; but she was 
sorry that necessity obliged her to do so. She felt it had 
placed her in a very awkward position with an entire 
stranger. There were certain kinds of notoriety Mary 
shrank from. She w^as not the one to preach or dictate to 
people. When it became absolutely necessary, she spoke 
her mind freely ; otherwise, she let people do as they liked. 
She realized that, ^^What is one man’s meat is another 
man’s poison.” She did not presume to lay down laws 
for others. She had her own convictions of right and 
wrong, and stood by them bravely. She was tolerant of 
every one’s views, no matter how widely they differed 
from her own. 

Mary was a reformer, in one sense of the word; but she 
had no precedent in her methods. She never talked nor 
got into controversy^ nor tried to make converts. It made 
no difference to her whether a man was Greek, J ew, or Gen- 
tile. She was even tolerant of the apparently utterly idle 
and useless people in the world: Her thought always was : 
^They do not know. They do not realize.” She had a 


The Chatter of Carl and Gertrude. 207 

wonderful faculty of saying something in a few words, or 
of doing some little thing that awakened this particular 
class of unthinking people, and frequently revolutionized 
their lives. She did not believe in total depravity. She 
had an unwavering faith in humanity. No matter what 
the overlay of evil, she was firm in the conviction that 
under it was good in the human heart. Above all, her 
sympathies went out to the young — to children, to young 
men and women, to young mothers. In the subject of 
maternity she was deeply interested, and made it a pro- 
found study. She was a constant, earnest thinker. Her 
convictions, while not obtrusive^ were decidedly pronounced. 

Mary^s apartment was a suite of three rooms. When 
she entered her sitting-room, she heard the children’s 
voices. They were playing in the adjoining room. She 
passed into her bedroom and sat down. In spite of her- 
self, something of sadness had come into her face. While 
sitting there in deep thought, Carl’s voice came to her 
saying to Gertrude : 

^‘Oh, I often wish I was a squirrel. I could run and 
play all day, and sleep at night, and have a pocketful of 
nuts, and live in a tree, and have no papa nor mamma, 
and do just as I pleased. Don’t you think it would be a 
nice thing to be a squirrel and have a long tail?” 

^^No,” said Gertrude. ^^My nose would be cold and I’d 
have hair on my back. Ugh! I’d rather be a little girl 
than anything. What do you want to be a squirrel for?” 

^Tecause,” said Carl, ^fif I had a long tail, like a 
squirrel, just now. I’d put red pepper on it, and wave it 
in my nurse’s face. Wouldn’t it be fun?” He laughed 
in glee at the thought of it. ^^Wouldn’t she sneeze and roll 
over and howl ! Then, I’d run up a tree, and eat nuts, 
and look at her, and she couldn’t get me or touch me, if 
I were a squirrel.” 


208 


Mary Starkweather. 

Mary could not help but smile at the picture Carl con- 
jured up, and at his evident enjoyment of it. She de- 
plored, yet did not wonder at it. She felt that the child’s 
life had been passed far from justice and reason and the 
force of kindness. She listened for Gertrude’s reply to 
Carl ; for Gertrude had seemed to see the ridiculous picture, 
and had joined in the laugh. 

Gertrude had a lot of blocks that had just been given to 
her. When properly adjusted, they formed a large Chinese 
temple; and the children were building this up as they 
talked. 

^^Wouldn’t you look gay sitting on the limb of a tree?” 

‘^Guess I would,” said Carl. Then, after a minute’s 
silence : wish my nurse would fall down and break her 

neck.” 

^^Oh, goodness, Carl Burton !” — and down came a num- 
ber of blocks with a crash—^^don’t say such things, even 
in fun.” 

^T’m not in fun. I wish she would die,” reiterated the 
incorrigible youngster. 

‘^Why, Carl ! I thought you were in fun all the time. 
You wouldn’t hurt anybody. Don’t you know that isn’t 
nice ?” 

‘T don’t care. I don’t want to be nice nor good. I don’t 
like nice people nor good people,” declared Carl. 

"But don’t you know that those are bad thoughts, and 
bad thoughts are ” 

"Oh, what are you trying to give me ? You don’t know 
what you’re talking about. You’re only a little girl. 
What do you know about it ?” interrupted Carl. 

Grertrude was silent a moment. Then she said: "Well, 
Carl, wouldn’t you believe mamma?” 

"Of course I’d believe her. She’s a dream !” said Carl, 
with great admiration. 


The Chatter of Carl and Gertrude. 209 

Again a smile crept into Mary’s face as she heard her- 
self so classically designated. 

“Well, come here to the window, and I’ll show yon 
something,” said Gertrude. “Now, there aren’t many clouds 
just now; but you see that blackest one and the two little 
ones sailing toward it? In a minute they will be swal- 
lowed up in the big cloud. You’ve watched the clouds 
when a big storm is coming, and you’ve seen the clouds 
crowd together, until there was a big storm with thunder 
and lightning, haven’t you?” 

“Yes; but what has that to do with your thoughts?” 

“Mamma says our thoughts are just like that. If we 
have black thoughts we attract people to us that have black 
thoughts, and we keep doing that until we have all kinds 
of troubles, and it breaks up in disaster, just as the storm 
breaks up in thunder and lightning, and in cyclones, and 
pulls down houses, and kills people. You see the beau- 
tiful, white clouds and the little, soft, fleecy ones?” said 
Gertrude, pointing upward. “See how they don’t pay any 
attention to the black clouds. Those are like our good 
thoughts.” 

“How does your mamma know about clouds and thoughts 
and things?” said Carl, with a little quaver of doubt in 
his voice. 

“Because she is big and wise and knows a lot of things. 
I’d rather be a little white cloud,” said Gertrude, dreamily 
gazing up into the sky, “than a black one. I would just 
sail on and on and never look at the black cloud. I would 
just keep in the golden sunshine always.” 

Gertrude’s face was turned upward, and Carl stood 
looking at her; and this smart, astute youngster instinc- 
tively felt he must keep black thoughts away if he wanted 
to remain Gertrude’s playmate. And vaguely, very 
vaguely, he felt the truth in what she said, although he 


210 


Mary Starkweather. 

did not understand it. Still, in this object-lesson, there 
had been one seed sown — a little one, it is true. Still it 
was a seed. Mary felt it as Carl said: 

^^Well, Til try not to think of the mean old thing.” 

At that moment the nurse came with the summons for 
Carl from Mr. Burton, which she delivered to Mary. 

^^Your father wants you, Carl,” said Fanny. 

'Til not go!” declared Carl. 

"Yes, you will; so come along,” and Fanny started to- 
ward Carl. 

"Don’t you touch me. I’ll scratch your eyes out if you 
do !” 

"There I you see, Mrs. Thornton, how he acts. He isn’t 
fit to play with your little girl, and ” 

Mary held up her hand for silence, and then said : "Carl, 
come here.” 

Instantly the boy laid down his playthings and came 
and stood beside her. She took his hands and looked 
straight into his eyes — such beautiful, fearless eyes as 
the boy had! 

"Carl, you must obey your father. He has sent for 
you, and says you may come back. Go, now, with Fanny ; 
and Gertrude and I will wait right here until you re- 
turn. Your father told me you could remain with me for 
a day or two. Your father is a gentleman, and he will 
keep his word. Go, now. The little house you have been 
building shall remain just as it is;” and she turned to 
Gertrude and said, playfully: "Miss Thornton, Manager 
Burton has been called out of town on business. He re- 
ceived a telegram, I think, and the work will have to be 
suspended until he returns.” 

This pleased Carl very much ; and although he thought 
he was going to get a whipping, he left the room without 
any more trouble. The child had been outraged by this 


The Chatter of Carl and Gertrude. 21 1 


domineering nurse until he hated her. Mary deplored the 
fact, yet she did not blame him. She could not imagine 
why Mr. Burton had sent for Carl, and she had a feeling 
of uneasiness in regard to it. Could it be possible he 
had sent for him to punish him? It was dreadful to 
contemplate. 

Mary believed that mind, once fairly put in motion, is 
self-propelling, and that it is ‘^the most potent force in 
the universe,^^ — a real, tangible force that neither walls, 
time, nor distance can interfere with. Therefore, she 
sent her thoughts as silent messengers to Mr. Burton, 
feeling they would be more efficacious than spoken words. 

Soon Carl came bounding in, with radiant face, with 
the note from his father. Mary read it. It must have 
been, in some way, highly satisfactory; for a beautifully 
soft look came into her eyes. She gave a little sigh of satis- 
faction as she arose and tucked the note away in a safe 
and secret place, and was humming a little tune as Charles 
came in. 

Mary, with all her good qualities, was at times disap- 
pointing. The note must have convinced her that she had 
not made a mistake. Instead of falling down on her 
knees, and praying aloud and thanking the All-Wise for 
making her an instrument in His hands in showing Carl’s 
father the error of his ways, or going into a dark room 
or closet and remaining on her knees an hour or more, 
with Charles and the hungry children waiting for their 
dinner, she chatted to Charles, said funny things to the 
children, and sang little snatches of songs. She didn’t 
seem to be pondering on the awful sinfulness of the world, 
nor to be weighed down with the thought that she might 
have made a mistake of some kind. Smiling, she went 
away to the dining-room, with Charles and the children, 
and drew all eyes to look and marvel at her resplendent 


212 Mary Starkweather. 

beauty. And when the happy, but incorrigible Carl could 
not resist the impulse of stepping on the cat’s tail, caus- 
ing it to give forth an unearthly yowl, s.he actually laughed. 
She did not even take this splendid opportunity to tell 
him he was wicked and that God wouldn’t love him, and 
to ask how he would like to be a cat and have his tail 
stepped on. No ; she sat there and looked as if she rather 
enjoyed it. She smiled, even as she said in a low tone, 
in reply to Gertrude’s startled look : 

^^Never mind. It will be all right, by-and-by, dear.” 

What she meant by that it would be hard to tell. Possi- 
bly she referred to the cat’s tail. She could not fail to 
hear the various expressions from tables near her own: 

^^That boy couldn’t behave to save his life,” from Dr. 
Cline. 

one can m^anage him,” from Harry Burbank. 

‘‘I would like to have the privilege of licking him,” 
came from lazy, luxury-loving Dick Braintree. 

don’t believe in corporal punishment,” from big, 
tender-hearted Colonel Eversolh 

^^My mother believed in copious doses of hickory oil, well 
spanked in. And I think she was right. It’s a great 
lubricator, and keeps children straight,” said Dr. Mal- 
ridge. 

Such were the fragments of conversation that drifted 
to Mary. 

Mrs. Preston and the guests in the house wondered at 
Mary’s bringing Carl into the dining-room; but Mary 
took no notice of them, nor of the remarks that she heard. 
She did not talk the matter over with Mrs. Preston, nor 
with the rest of the inmates of the house, setting them a 
good example, and exhorting them to go and do likewise, 
as so many enlightened, good people do. No ; she bid her 
light under a bushel. No one but Charles knew that she 


The Chatter of Carl and Gertrude. 213 

had met Mr. Burton, and even he did not know of the 
dramatic episode that had taken place in the parlor. Her 
way of doing things was really quite out of the ordinary, 
and against all precedent, and we canH believe but that 
she was a little selfish. Mr. Burton did not tell it either. 
A few such people in a community, and there would be 
a dearth of news. 

As they left the dining-room, Mrs. Preston overheard 
Mary say to her husband : 

^‘This atmosphere is enough to stifle Carl. Let us take 
him for a walk.’’ 

This remark nettled Mrs. Preston. It was the most 
exquisitely appointed and deliciously cooled dining-room 
at the Springs. The windows were filled with ferns and 
fragrant blossoms, and flowers bloomed in the center of 
every table. To hear this leader of society, this beautiful 
!Mrs. Thornton, this queen among women, the one whom 
she had been so anxious to receive in her house, make such 
a remark, was too much. She burst into tears and had to 
be consoled and comforted. 

Mary was not conscious that her words had been over- 
heard; and she went with Charles and the children for a 
walk, and wandered around the grounds of the new home. 
When they returned and Mary had donned a loose neglige, 
she told stories to the children. 

To a question from Gertrude to Carl about his mother, 
he replied: 

“Yes, she is sick. Most always when I go into her 
room, she say?, “Take that child away.’ She says I’m 
a nuisance. Did you ever think Gertrude a nuisance?” 
— this last to Mary. 

At that moment, Gertrude, holding to the back of her 
mother’s chair, was standing on the rocker, swinging to 
and fro, as Mary gently rocked, Mary laughingly said; 


214 Mary Starkweather. 

course! Isn^t she a nuisance now? — standing on 
my rockers And she caught Gertrude, pulling her to 
her, giving her a playful whipping, much to the amuse- 
ment of the children. It ended in a regular romp and 
pillow-fight, this queenly woman entering into it with the 
zest and spirit of a child. It was great fun for Carl. 
He seemed also filled with astonishment, as he watched 
Mary; and afterward, he said to Gertrude: 

never knew ladies played like your mamma. Isn’t 
it fun?” 

And so ended the first day at Willow Springs. 


A Demonstration of Truth. 


215 


CHAPTEE XV. 

A DEMONSTRATION OF TRUTH. 

The next morning there was a sternness in the sky, a 
plaintive melancholy in the sighing of the wind as it 
swept through the trees. It had rained through a good 
part' of the night, and the morning was wet and forbid- 
ding, and made indoors desirable. Morning walks had 
to be postponed except to the web-footed. No matter. 
It was an hour for meditation for both Charles and Mary. 
It was Sunday. To-morrow they would be in their new 
home. 

Among the inmates of this exclusive, little hotel, seated 
together at a table in the cozy dining-room on this par- 
ticular morning^ were three especially attractive young 
ladies— Miss Isabel Stevens, of Boston, daughter of the 
Honorable George Stevens, who had been in Congress 
many years. Her mother was a Miss Adams, a direct de- 
scendant of President John Adams. 

George Stevens was a man of ample means, but not of 
great wealth. Isabel had had all the advantages of social 
life in the principal cities in America and abroad. She 
had been out about four years, and was still, so report 
said, whole hearted and fancy free. She was an unusual 
girl — a very strong character. She had a decided mind 


2 i 6 Mary Starkweather. 

of her own, and she was quite capable of doing her own 
thinking. She was widely read on all topics of the day, 
both social and religious. She also had dipped into sci- 
ence, and was much interested in various new phases of 
psychic phenomena. She had rich chestnut brown hair, 
large, fearless, brown eyes, ruddy cheeks and lips, a rather 
robust figure, and she walked with that full, easy swing 
that only comes from perfect physical health. Her face 
was as free from care as a summer sky from the clouds. 

Miss Edith Brandt was the daughter of Col. Elihu 
Brandt, the great railroad magnate of Hew York. She 
had entered society three years previous. She was su- 
perbly beautiful and distinguished looking. Her hair was 
purple black, her violet eyes were such as one reads about, 
but seldom sees. They were large and full with jet- 
black lashes that curled upward. Her eyebrows were beau- 
tifully arched and black as her hair. Her skin was like 
alabaster^ and her tall, slender figure was perfect in con- 
tour. She had had rare opportunities socially. Her 
handsome and accomplished mother was an acknowledged 
social leader. 

Edith had been engaged to an English duke, and prep- 
arations were being made for the wedding, when, sud- 
denly she changed her mind, refused to marry him, and 
returned to America, much to the chagrin of the prospec- 
tive bridegroom. 

Edith was dignified and was considered haughty by 
strangers who did not know her. She had a decided will 
of her own, but could easily be led by those she loved, 
and by those who understood her. She really had an 
ardent, lovable nature. 

She had one sister, who now sat at the table by her 
side; and a greater contrast could hardly be imagined. 
Pansy Brandt was just like her name. She was petite 


A Demonstration of Truth. 


217 


in figure^ a perfect doll of a girl, round and rosy and 
dimpled. She had large, liquid, brown eyes and a shower 
of golden hair which was as fine and soft as silken floss. 

A year previous, Mrs. Brandt and Pansy were driving 
in Central Park, when the horses took fright and ran 
away. They were both thrown from the carriage. Mrs. 
Brandt was only slightly bruised; but Pansy was picked 
up apparently lifeless. It was long before consciousness 
was restored, and weary weeks of suffering and suspense 
followed. Then, she gradually began to improve, and 
finally was apparently well, but she could not walk. Her 
limbs were almost useless. She could move a very little 
on two crutches ; but usually she had to be carried or moved 
in an invalid’s chair. 

This was a terrible blow to the Brandts, especially to 
Edithj who idolized her sister. Edith and her mother 
were now at Willow Springs with Pansy who was under the 
care of Dr. Cline. Isabel Stevens came to the Springs 
to be with the Brandts. They were all good friends of 
Mary, and she was a great favorite with them. 

Mary and Charles had breakfasted in their own room 
with the children, this Sunday morning. Afterward, 
when Mary was reading to Charles, he suddenly signalled 
her to stop and listen. Carl’s voice came to them from 
the adjoining room, saying in a guarded tone to Gertrude : 

^H’ll tell you something if you won’t tell.” 

^^All right. I won’t,” replied Gertrude. 

^“^Cross your heart,” said Carl. 

^‘Yes, I cross my heart,” — supposedly making the neces- 
sary motions, as there was a pause. ^^How tell me.” 

‘To you know, I would like to kill God. I hate Him 
worse than the devil.” 

“Oh, Carl! Why?” in a little awed voice. 

“Because He made my mamma sick, and He could make 


2i8 


Mary Starkweather. 

her well and He doesn^t. If she were well I could play 
with her like you do with your mamma, and have pillow- 
fights and things. Oh! you ought to see my mamma. 
She's awful pretty — little black curly rings in her hair, 
oh, awful cute! And she can laugh like anything when 
she's tickled." 

For the moment, while describing his mother, Carl's 
voice became quite animated. Then, with almost ferocious 
bitterness, he reiterated: 

H don't love God, and I'd like to kill Him. There!" 

There was silence for a moment, Mary and Charles both 
listening and wondering what Gertrude would say. 

^^Would you want to kill all the beautiful things in the 
world, and me and my mamma and papa and your mamma 
and papa ?" asked Gertrude. 

“Of course not. What are you talking about?" 

“Only that if you killed God, you would kill everything 
in the world, and there would be no gladness, nor love, 
nor joy." 

“I'd like to know why?" 

“Because the Lord God is in everything. God is in 
our joy, our gladness. Mamma says gladness makes you 
want to be glad, and keeps you well and happy. How, 
if you are very glad and happy, maybe your mamma will 
get well by-and-by." 

“I don't believe it,” maintained Carl stoutly. “She 
has always been sick ever since I was a little baby; and 
once, when we thought she was going to die, my Sunday- 
school teacher said that she would be an angel. I told 
him I didn't want her to be an angel, and he said I was 
a bad boy. Would you want to be an angel ? I wouldn't.” 

“Why?” asked Gertrude. 

“Just because T wouldn't. And you wouldn’t either 

now would you?” 


A Demonstration of Truth. 


219 


don’t know. I never saw an angel.” 

^^Well, yon’ve seen pictures of them. They have pin- 
feathers all over them and wings growing out of their 
backs, wings most as big as they are themselves; and they 
have no clothes on them, just a lot of white rags and 
strings tied to them. And they are always flying about, 
and I guess, when they sleep they lay on their stomachs 
’cause they couldn’t lay on their backs, for they’d muss up 
their wings, you know. I don’t think they are a bit pretty, 
and I wouldn’t want my mamma to be a thing like that 
and again the voice took the little, hungry plaint. 

Mary and Charles had been shaking with laughter; 
but when Carl referred again to his mother in that hungry 
voice, Mary went into the room, and taking the child in 
her arms, cuddled and kissed and caressed him, and al- 
lowed him almost to strangle her with his vehement 
squeezes. He had the most impulsive little heart, and 
even in this short time Mary had won him completely. 
All the hunger and loneliness were revealed. Is there any- 
thing on earth to equal the intense longing in a child’s 
heart for love? The child has no philosophy to aid him 
in stifling that hunger, and, God help us ! the world is 
full of it, full of heartaches. We give food, clothing, 
beautiful homes, and education to our children, and then 
stand amazed when they grow up and go astray. Parents 
withhold the very thing that would have kept their chil- 
dren loyal and true. Feed children with love; fill their 
lives with affection; and gather them to your heart as a 
hen gathers her brood beneath her wings, and doubt not 
the recompense will be great. 

After dinner, Mary came out on the piazza to find Mrs. 
Tremaine, Gertrude, Edith, and Miss Stevens all grouped 


2 20 Mary Starkweather. 

around little Euth. They were laughing at some of Ger- 
trude^ s quaint remarks. 

Mrs. Tremaine, seeing Mary, hastened forward to meet 
her. There was an unusually happy light in her eyes as 
she said: 

am sure, Mrs. Thornton, I don’t know how to ac^ 
count for it; but Ruth has not had such a night’s rest 
since her accident; and to-day, she is comparatively with- 
out pain. She almost lifted her head from the pillow. She 
really seemed to enjoy her breakfast. And once this morn- 
ing, she turned her head way around. I was quite fright- 
ened. I think you must have bewitched her. Do look 
at her. Don’t you think she has a trifle more color, and 
that her eyes look a little brighter?” said the anxious 
mother. 

Miss Stevens darted a sharp look at Mary. She had 
not been raised in thoughtful, studious Boston for noth- 
ing. 

am sure we can all see a marked change for the better 
in Euth. I hope the fairies will keep on with their good 
work,” said she signiflcantly ; for, from a word or two 
dropped by Gertrude, Miss Stevens had a suspicion that 
there was a strong current of health flowing from some 
direction. 

Mary said: am sure she looks better, and I feel sure 

she is better.” Then, after a few words spoken to Ruth, 
she turned and said to the others : am going to join the 

gentlemen in the drawing-room. I see it is clouding up 
again, and I think it is too damp out here for any of you. 
Will you not come with me?” 

She led the way into the house, followed by the entire 
party. When they entered the drawing-room, they found 
there. General Starkweather, Charles, Harry, Richard 
Braintree, Bennie Gordon, Donald Barry, and Sidney 


A Demonstration of Truth. 


221 


Banks. Some of them were talking, while others lounged 
about, listening. At sight of the ladies, the gentlemen 
arose, and began adjusting chairs and divans for them, 
as Mary asked in a gay voice: 

^‘Are we intruding? Are ladies forbidden in this wise 
council? What are you discussing, anything that con- 
cerns us ?” 

^^My goodness ! listen to that,” exclaimed Charles. ^^My 
dear, how many questions can you ask without stopping 
to take breath? But to answer them: First, you are not 
intruding. Second, ladies are not forbidden in this wise 
council. Third, we are fast drifting into speculating on 
the mysteries and possibilities of the human soul. Fourth, 
does it concern you? Well, as we are not Chinamen, 
and think you possibly have souls, we think it does. Have 
I answered you satisfactorily?” 

^Terfectly, my liege,” said Mary, making him a pro- 
found curtsey. Then, glancing around, she exclaimed, 
as she saw the little party settling down all about the 
room: ‘‘Oh! this will never do. You are all too scat- 
tered — too remote entirely !” And she led the way to the 
extreme end of the room. “How, here, we can be wonder- 
fully cosy and exclusive, and not interfere with any other 
guests that happen to come in.” 

There was a general move in her direction. They all 
remained, except Sidney Banks, who declared he had no 
taste for religious discussions. Ho one was surprised, as 
he was known to be a rank atheist. 

They were soon settled to their satisfaction, when Mary 
again exclaimed: 

“But where are Dr. Malridge and Colonel Eversoll?” 

“We are expecting them to materialize at any moment. 
So possess your soul in patience,” said the general. 

“I canT conceive of a more delightful treat,” declared 


2 22 Mary Starkweather. 

Miss Stevens, with animation, ‘^‘than to see those two men 
pitted against each other. I am told they never can come 
together without a little brush.” 

don’t think they can,” replied Harry. “Last night 
they had a regular tussle. It was hard to tell who got the 
best of it, at first. However, the colonel had his innings 
when it came to the war. He told how the Christians 
studied the best methods of killing people ; how the minis- 
ters stood in the pulpits and said, ^Thou shalt not kill,’ 
and in the same breath, lauded the bravery of the army 
and prayed for victory in battle, which meant slaughter; 
and rejoiced at the promotion, and prayed for the long 
life and prosperity of those that were instrumental in 
killing most of the enemy. Then the colonel dwelt upon 
the fact of how a man who kills his personal enemy that 
has done him an injury, is hung; but how another man, 
going into battle, may become a hero and get promoted, 
by killing a hundred men that have done him no personal 
wrong whatever. He declared that consistency is a jewel 
that does not belong to the orthodox religion, and that the 
civilized Christian armies were not content with bring- 
ing their fellow-men into battle, but even trained dumb 
brutes — horses, dogs, and even innocent doves, — for the 
same purpose: to carry messages, water, bandages, and 
remedies to and from the battle-field. The people sat 
round and cheered the colonel. I think he got the best 
of it; for it’s hard to reconcile the Commandment, ^Thou 
shalt not kill,’ with thanking God for the preservation 
of a murderer, all in one church service. They really 
ought to drop out one or the other.” 

“My ! it does seem true, and it is awful, isn’t it ?” said 
Edith. “I don’t think I ever thought of war just in that 
way. I thank you, Mr. Burbank, for telling us this. It’s 
given me something new to think about. I always thought 


A Demonstration of Truth. 223 

it was rather brave in a man to go to war. Now, I al- 
ready begin to have my doubts about it.” 

‘^My father thinks Colonel Eversoll has been the great 
shackle-bearer of the age/' said Miss Stevens. 

^^So he has,” assented the general; ‘^ut the mischief 
of it is that sometimes he has lost his head in his awful 
attacks upon shams, and in his natural repugnance to hy- 
pocrisy, he has gone too far. But after all,” said the 
general, considerately, ^Vhat one of us has not been car- 
ried too far through our enthusiasm?” 

^^Very few indeed,” said Harry. ^^The colonel, has made 
life worth living to many men, and he has set them an 
example of being good for good’s own sake.” 

^‘We may not agree with him in everything; but neither 
do we agree with Dr. Malridge,” said Charles. 

'^They are both brilliant and good men,” said the gen- 
eral. ‘^Dr. Malridge is one of those remarkable men that 
have appeared from time to time, to electrify the religious 
world by eloquence the most persuasive; and by living 
lives that serve as samples to guide others on their course 
to Heaven. His thunder-tones have been heard throughout 
the land.” 

‘^No one could doubt the sincerity of either of them,” 
said Charles. 

“An impartial judge would never doubt that,” replied 
the general. “No man ever lived whose sensibility was 
more susceptible than Colonel EversolFs. Not only are 
his eyes open to Nature, but every fibre of his being seems 
tremblingly alive to her presence. His nerves are like an, 
Eolian harp that the faintest breath of wind can make 
vibrate musically. The shapes and hues of natural ob- 
jects in all their infinite diversity, seem to be the con- 
stant companions of his thoughts. Hardly a leaf or flower 
exists with which he is not familiar, from the grass by the 


224 Mary Starkweather. 

wayside to the huge oak on the hillside; from the violet 
to the dome of heaven; from the skylark to the stars that 
Veave their everlasting web of motion through the sky.’ 
All things in Nature claim his loving friendship.” 

^^In the time to come, as well as now, he will be re- 
membered with gratitude and thanksgiving,” said Harry 
with much feeling. 

At this moment Dr. Malridge entered the room. ^^Ah !” 
he exclaimed in his own inimitable manner, as he hurried 
forward, ^^this is a pleasure indeed. It has been such a 
dreary day; but the sight of the ladies, has banished all 
the clouds. Are we going to have your opinions on ethics, 
or what? You look very wise and exclusive way off here 
in the corner of this big room.” 

^^Oh, we are going to let the men talk to-day,” laughed 
Mary. ‘^We women are going to follow St. Paul’s in- 
junction, for once, and keep silence.” 

^‘^Dear doctor, what do you think made St. Paul so 
grumpy in regard to the women ?” asked Miss Stevens. 

“I’m sure I have never been able to discover the cause. 
But my opinion is that his eyes were so weak he was never 
able to see how beautiful they were,” responded the doc- 
tor gallantly. 

“I think he was jilted,” said Harry, “and took his re- 
venge on the sex.” 

“More likely, he never could find any one to have him 
and became vinegary,” remarked Edith. 

Meantime, the religious controversy was waxing hot 
among the gentlemen. Dick and Donald had been sapng 
that while they enjoyed it, they felt like running away, 
as it was mostly Greek to them. Dick declared he be- 
lieved he was better acquainted with “Hoyle on Games” 
than with the Bible. Harry threatened he would shoot 
him if he left. So, Dick collapsed into the protecting 


A Demonstration of Truth. 


225 


arms of a large chair, and the conversation drifted on 
between the four gentlemen. Carl and Gertrude were near 
Ruth’s chair. The doctor was jesting with the ladies. 

Suddenly, Charles brought his fist down emphatically 
on the arm of his chair, and exclaimed in reply to some 
remark : 

^^What does it matter whether we are followers of 
Mahomet, Zoroaster, Confucius, Buddah, or Christ? If 
we strive to do the best we know how, it is all that is re- 
quired of us. They were all great teachers, and it does not 
matter.” 

“It matters a great deal,” chimed in Dr. Malridge. 
“There is but one revealed religion, and that is the re- 
vealed religion of Jesus Christ. If you don’t look out, 
you will become as bad as our friend, the audacious, athe- 
istic iconoclast. Colonel EversoH.” 

“You cannot honestly call him an atheist,” said Harry 
pleasantly. “I think I shall have to defend the colonel 
in his absence.” 

“Ho,” remarked the general, “that is not fair. You 
cannot call him an atheist. You must remember his 
youthful experience; he had begun to doubt in youth.” 

“Yes,” replied Dr. Malridge, “and like Peter, as soon 
as he began to doubt, he sank.” 

“True,” replied the general, ^Tut like Peter, he only 
sank a little way. His doubt was great, but it did not 
quite submerge him. He did ipiot reach the bottom. At 
first, he was almost what he was called, an atheist, not 
quite. For under all that some people called blasphemous, 
was that inward principle of good. His mind is constantly 
unfolding to Hature’s God, and his beliefs have ripened 
and merged into agnosticism.” 

“Speaking of his early experience,” said Harry, “I have 
heard him state, that after scrambling mentally over the 


2 26 Mary Starkweather. 

rocks and shoals of the eternal tempest of religious con- 
troversy and Orthodoxy, forcing his way through all pre- 
ceding examples and teachings, and standing upon a plat- 
form of Common Sense and Truth and Love, with the 
light of reason breaking in upon him, how the feelings 
of emancipation overcame him, and he could feel the 
manacles of intellectual slavery falling away from him; 
and now he said he looked at Tom Paine and Voltaire 
much as the blacks must have looked at Lincoln.’’ 

"Yes,” said Charles, "and I, too, at that time, have heard 
him say how he felt the torrent of mighty love pouring 
into his soul from eternal Nature.” 

"He is a theologian, in spite of himself,” smilingly 
said the general. "He believes in the power that makes 
for righteousness, in that he loves all that God has made. 
Forget his words and remember his inspiration for all that 
is good in man and nature.” 

"It seems to me,” said Charles, "that if God lives and 
moves and has His being in the whole of His works, then 
to love His works is to love God ; and when a man stands 
on the mountain-top, and views God’s works and acknowl- 
edges their beauty and inspiration, he acknowledges God.” 

"Yet the real, divine inspiration is not there; the real, 
true religious essence,” said the doctor. "So, as a matter 
of fact, he does not acknowledge God and become new- 
born, but stands in this mighty presence, and utters the 
awful blasphemy, T don’t know.’ ” 

"But,” argued Harry, "when a man says, T don’t know,’ 
it is not negative any more than affirmative. And in 
regard to the beyond, it seems to me, it is more to be com- 
mended than when the man says, T know.’ I cannot 
understand the mind that seeks God in one direction, 
and as an individual something apart from all else.'’ 

But at this moment the current of the conversation was 


A Demonstration of Truth. 


227 


again disturbed by the arrival of the colonel, who, -as 
Billy settled him, in a comfortable manner, laughingly 
remarked in answer to several inquiries as to how he was : 

‘"^My dear Mrs. Thornton, I think either you or your 
baby girl must be a witch. You made tho remark, last 
evening, when you said Good-night, that you were sure I 
would sleep better; and 1 donT think I have slept so well 
for a year as I did last night. Lately, I have almost 
dreaded to go to bed, I suffer so at night. Have you a 
magic to exorcise pain?’^ he smilingly questioned. 
you know, this morning, I almost imagined the swelling 
was a little less. Of course it was imagination; but it 
shows what an immense bump of hope I have. At the 
first little relief from pain, I began to imagine I was 
better; and, do you know, I have kept thinking it ail day 
until I feel like a fighting rooster;” and glancing at Dr. 
Malridge, he said menacingly: ^^Look out for my spurs!” 

Again Miss Stevens glanced sharply at Mary. But her 
face betrayed nothing. The colonel, without waiting for 
an)'^ reply to his remarks, continued: 

‘^At the moment I entered, I just caught enough of the 
tail end of your conversation to know you were having 
religious service; and I fear my coming in has disturbed 
you. IBs like Satan entering into Paradise. I feel I 
ought to apologize. But pray go on. Idl try and say 
Amen at the right places. So donT mind me.” 

The colonePs sally brought a laugh from all present. 
Then the conversation was resumed. 

‘^Oh,” said the general, good-naturedly, ‘Ve will not 
mind you in the least. In fact, we^ll take you in as one of 
us, and let you have your say. Go on, Harry. You had 
the floor when the colonel entered.” 

Gertrude had gone to her father and was sitting on his 


228 


Mary Starkweather. 

knee. Charles had his arm around Carl, who was stand- 
ing by his side, as Harry replied : 

^^Oh, I don^t know that I have much more to say — only 
this: that I cannot think of God in one direction only. 
It seems to me He must pervade everything. I would 
have to feel God’s works.” 

^"That is just it,” said Charles. like to think of God 
as pervading everything, and that when we breathe the 
sweet air, or hold the dewy rose or lily, we breathe and 
hold Him. Then we feel He is eternal.” 

man may love the beautiful,” said Dr. Malridge, 
“listen to the harmonious strains of song with rapture, and 
love mankind; yet that does not prove his divine title. 
I might feel all these, and yet I still would have an un- 
satisfied longing, which all these would be impotent to fill, 
and which true religion, alone, can give. There would 
still be that thirst unquenchable, that the waters from the 
springs beautiful, could not allay. The burning thirst 
belongs to the immoral essence of man’s nature, and only 
true religion could quench that thirst and give perennial 
life.” 

“The man that feels that, does not appreciate the world 
beautiful,” said the colonel. 

“Yes, he may,” replied Dr. Malridge; “but there is an- 
other longing — the wild effort and hunger for the beauty 
above.” 

“For what he can’t see and what he knows nothing 
about,” said the colonel. “It’s like some tourists wan- 
dering from one scene to another, never enjoying the 
present magnificence, but wondering what they are going 
to see next. How, if 'there is a God, who made the world 
beautiful, He must have meant us to enjoy it ; and for us 
to wait until the next is revealed to enjoy that. It is the 
desire of the butterfly for the star.” 


A Demonstration of Truth. 229 

"It is the forethought of the loveliness to come,” sighed 
Dr. Malridge. 

^^And for that reason, he should sigh and shed tears,” 
laughed the colonel. 

"It’s a passion to be satiated by no sublunary sights, or 
scfunds, or sentiments, and the soul athirst strives to allay 
its fever in its endeavors to unravel these mysteries,” re- 
plied Dr. Malridge. 

"Which are futile efforts,” asserted Colonel Eversoll. 
"The idea of a man’s being inspired by a persistent ecstasy 
to look beyond the grave where all is hidden, to struggle 
by multiform combinations of energy, time, and strength, 
and to anticipate the God he pretends to serve and adore 
by unraveling the very element that belongs solely to 
eternity. He goes at this amidst groans and tears, and 
with unflinching efforts, beating on the walls of the 
Eternal, which, in spite of his tumultous efforts, ever keeps 
silent.” 

"I don’t believe I exactly agree with either of you,” 
said Charles. "Little by little, the light is breaking; 
hands invisible are touching the springs ; day by day we see 
more clearly.” 

"Undoubtedly there has been and there is now a great 
religious convulsion,” said the general. "And religion is 
being transposed to a rational point much nearer true di- 
vinity than in the past. There is more love and there is 
less fear, more hope and less despair.” His voice was as 
smooth as oil poured on troubled waters. 

"I declare!” said Dr. Malridge, "you all seem to have 
become doubters. You are losing all reverence. God must 
be feared as well as loved.” 

"I assure you, my dear Doctor,” said Charles, "I never 
was more sincere in my life. It is because I do love God 
with all my heart and soul that I do not believe those 


230 Mary Starkweather. 

things. I don’t want to go to Heaven through fear, hut 
through love and desire and joyous longing for His pres- 
ence; and for the hope of being in the midst of eternal 
good. When I love Nature and my surroundings and my 
fellow-men, my heart swells, and God stands forth in 
sublimity, and the petty cares of life become as noth- 
ing.” 

Mary glanced at him; her face was glowing. She 
thanked him with her eyes. He had spoken earnestly. Both 
the children were listening. Little Gertrude exclaimed: 

^Tapa, I think that was a beautiful thought. I see 
God plainer every day. Wasn’t that beautiful, Carl? 
Don’t you see Him?” 

^^Well, I think I do,” rather slowly and doubtfully re- 
plied Carl. 

These remarks on the part of the children caused an 
‘^audible smile.” The conversation was about to be re- 
sumed, when Dr. Cline’s voice came to them, talking to 
some one on the piazza. They were standing just out- 
side the window, and the voices were plainly audible. It 
was not the doctor’s office hours, and they evidently had 
just met, and were on more intimate terms than Dr. Cline 
and the casual patient would be. Charles held up his hand 
to enjoin silence, and they all listened intently. Dr. 
Cline was saying: 

confess, Mr. Willis, I am puzzled over your wife’s 
case. I cannot discover the seat of her disease. Are 
you sure she has nothing on her mind that would cause 
this trouble?” 

'"Nothing that I know of,” replied Mr. Willis ; "ffiut even 
if it were her mind, it could not cause her to suffer as she 
does, at times almost approaching dissolution.” 

Yes, it could ; and the alleviation and removal of dis- 
ease is, in a great number of cases, dependent on the con- 


A Demonstration of Truth. 231 

dition of the mind. An agreement between the mind 
and body is constant. Stern once said : ^The body and the 
mind are like a jerkin and a jerkin’s lining; rumple one 
and you rumple the other.’ ” 

can’t understand my wife. She seems wholly in- 
different whether she gets well or not.” 

^That is bad; death is like everything else — a foe to be 
fought; a wild beast to be kept at bay. They who con- 
tend with the most spirit, live the greater number of days. 
The will to live and the determination not to die make 
the most eflScacious antidote against the poison of the 
Letheal dart.” 

‘^Do you think one can will himself to life and health ?” 

^Tn a large measure, yes. Now, just as an instance, take 
our friend. Colonel Eversoll. Some men, suffering as he 
is with an incurable disease, would be miserable and make 
every one around them miserable, and fret and fume ; and 
some fine morning would roll over and die. But it’s dif- 
ferent with him. He has a heart for any fate, and will 
not own himself conquered. Some people live in such fear 
of illness that their minds contract the very disease that 
eventually consumes them. It would be an interesting 
bit of statistics, could it be drawn up, that would show how 
many poor creatures have died from disease and how many 
from fright. Ah!” exclaimed Dr. Cline, ^Ve doctors 
see strange things, and some of my best remedies for posi- 
tive illness have been my reputation and bread pills. 
Bring your wife to me to-morrow, and, in the meantime, 
try to discover if there is anything worrying or fretting 
her.” 

The two gentlemen separated. 

^^What a plea Dr. Cline has made for metaphysics!” 
exclaimed Mary, drawing a long breath, and with a trium- 
phant look on her face. ^Tf mind is the cause of disease. 


232 Mary Starkweather. 

more mind ought to cure diseaee — ^not the mind that kills, 
but the mind that is eternal and unchangeable, which is 
life, and in which there is no death.” 

^^Yes, I believe myself that Mr. Panic kills as many peo- 
ple, one way or another, as Mr. Disease,” laughed the 
colonel. presume these people — these lunatics — ^that 
are to open the new sanatorium to-morrow, would have 
made a good deal of capital out of Dr. Cline’s remarks. 
As you say, Mrs. Thornton, it would have been trump 
cards for them.” 

“It would indeed,” assented Mary, with a merry gleam in 
her eye. 

“America, at present, seems to have an ist craze,” said 
Dr. Malridge, rising and pacing softly and slowly back 
and forth, his hands clasped behind him. When he spoke, 
he stopped, waved his hands to emphasize his remark, 
then resumed his walk. “One would think she had gone 
mad. She is equal to a steam incubator for hatching out 
new cults.” 

“That’s the penalty of living not only in an advanced 
age, but in an advanced country,” replied Harry, 
are a rapid people. I have read a good deal, lately, about 
these cults, even in our daily papers. Only this morning 
I read an interesting editorial in Puclc, which said that 
facts were cold, hard things, and no fact was colder nor 
harder than that a better understanding of the laws of life 
is being forced upon the world by the various mental 
schools ; and wound up by saying we were in the last days 
of drug-worship.” 

‘‘Puclc is no authority,” said Dr. Malridge, shrugging 
his shoulders. 

“Yot unless the article had been purely orthodox,” 
good-humoredlv said Colonel Eversoll. 

Dr. Malridge stopped and looked at the colonel, saying : 


A Demonstration of Truth. 233 

‘^Just consider I owe you one. Wait until I get you 
alone.” Then he continued: ‘T have heard more idiotic 
nonsense about these people. Now, the place that is to be 
opened to-morrow, is one of the finest here. It has a 
large handsome house. It has been entirely done over, 
and a new addition built in the form of a temple. The 
exterior is certainly beautiful, and I suppose the inside 
will correspond with the outside. There evidently has 
been a good deal of money spent. The grounds are large 
and commodious, and being so accessible to the springs 
has made the estate valuable. That the promoters of this 
enterprise should be allowed to gull people out of their 
money to purchase such an expensive place, is a shame and 
a disgrace.” 

^Tut,” said the colonel, sarcastically, ^Vhat a different 
thing it would be if it had been a church hospital with 
an orthodox badge tacked on it. For my part, I think 
it about six of one and a half dozen of the other. This 
mental religion is about on a par with your shouting re- 
ligion, only there is a little more Tarmonious vibration’ 
in it than in the other,” concluded the colonel, ironically. 

Dr. Malridge paid no attention to the colonel’s remarks 
except his last one. ^That’s it, a lot of vague expres- 
sions that to most people mean nothing. Now, suppose 
one of them should break a leg. What would he do?” 

‘^Oh, they wouldn’t mind a little thing like that ! They’d 
just calmly fold their hands and gaze heavenward, and 
think the bones together again, and — presto! — ^the leg 
would be well. That’s a fact ; that’s the way they’d do iV^ 
laughed the colonel. 

None laughed more heartily at the colonel’s description 
than Mary and Charles. 

Miss Stevens had been listening to all this with much 
curiosity. She had expected Mrs. Thornton to defend the 


234 Mary Starkweather. 

mental idea. Except for an occasional gleam in Mary’s 
eye, as she looked at her father or Charles, she made no 
sign, and Miss Stevens wondered if Charles could be in 
sympathy with his wife. With this thought in mind she 
turned to Charles and asked: 

^^Is that the way you would cure your leg if it were 
broken?” 

His reply nonplussed her : ‘^By no means. I would send 
for the best surgeon to be found.” 

^^Sensible man !” exclaimed the colonel. was begin- 
ning to get alarmed about you. It’s all the worst bosh 
I ever heard of.” 

^^Did you ever investigate this theory?” asked Miss 
Stevens. 

^^Not I,” replied the colonel. 

^^Should we better not suspend our judgment, for the 
present, and await developments? ^By their works ye 
shall know them.’ These people at the new sanatorium 
may do some good. When a person is relieved from suf- 
fering, he knows it. If medical treatment has failed, and 
his suffering ends while undergoing metaphysical treat- 
ment, he is very apt to think the latter cured him,” said 
Miss Stevens. 

would doubt it, even then,” said the colonel. 

Edith had been sitting, with wide-open eyes, drinking 
in every syllable. hTever in her life had she heard such 
a conversation. She was an intelligent girl and cultivated 
in a general way, and she had but vaguely comprehended 
much that had been said ; but she was of a fine, suscepti- 
ble nature, and she felt the stronsr under-current of the 
discussion. She admired Mary above all women. She 
bad watched her color deenen and noted the srleam in her 
etes as she leaned her cheek on her hand and listened in- 
tently. She saw that Mary was deeply interested. She 


A Demonstration of Truth. 235 

also had watched Isabel, and was surprised at her asser- 
tions and questions. She leaned forward to catch the 
colonel’s words. She evidently was expecting a different 
reply, and she asked the question: 

^Tut if it were some one you knew — ^an actual experience 
of a known friend?” 

The colonel looked in surprise at the eager, questioning 
face. She was sitting near him, and reaching over, he 
took her hand in that fatherly, winning way he always 
had with the young, and asked : 

^^My dear girl, do you believe all this nonsense?” 
don’t know anything about it,” said Edith. “I never 
heard of it until this afternoon. I have read in the Bible, 
though, how Christ and His apostles cured the afflicted 
and I have wondered if that was true then, why it could 
not be done now. Surely, if a friend of mine were sick — 
some one I had confidence in — and if he were healed, 
I would believe it then, wouldn’t you?” 

^‘Ho; I would not,” said the colonel positively, ^^because 
it’s out of all reason. I would think it an illusion. I 
would not believe.” 

^^Yet you, a lawyer, would hang a man on the evidence 
of these same friends !” exclaimed Charles. ^^There would 
be no illusion about that. ^Consistency, thou art a jewel !’ 
These same friends’ verdict would take a man’s life, but 
would not be sufficient to give to all men life everlast- 
ing.” 

The colonel glanced at Charles inquiringly, as he said 
ironically : ‘“^Do hear him. Charles, you have missed your 
vocation. You should have been a preacher. To hear 
you, one would think you were a sort of second Christ.” 

^^Would that I were! But wait until you are cured,” 
replied Charles, good-naturedly. 


236 Mary Starkweather. 

This amused the colonel very much; and he laughed 
heartily as he replied: 

^‘Yes, when I am cured thai way I will believe. I will 
worship this God myself.’’ Then, turning to Mrs. Tre- 
maine, who, like Edith, had been a silent but interested 
listener, he added: ^^You will have to take your little 
daughter to these people over at the new sanatorium.” 

“When I heard about them, I asked Dr. Malridge about 
it, and he said it is not scientific nor Christian,” replied 
Mrs. Tremaine. 

“Did not Christ heal?” asked Edith. 

“Yes,” chimed in Miss Stevens; “did He not say, ^He 
that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also’ ? 
*Heal the sick,’ was His command. Therefore, no mat- 
ter what else people may say about this method. I can’t 
see how they can call it un- Christian.” 

“My dear girls,” said Dr. Malridge, “that was long 
ago. That day is past.” 

“My dear young ladies, that was long ago. We have 
grown so good, now, in this day and generation, that God 
does not trouble Himself about us. He knows we have 
such wise, broad-minded»*leaders to look after us,” put in 
the colonel, with a significant look at Dr. Malridge. 

Dr. Malridge ignored the colonel’s thrust ; and remarked : 
“The day of miracles has past. Christ did many things 
we cannot do. He did them to prove that He was God. 
I am sorry to see so much skepticism among you young 
people ; but in spite of it and of the colonel’s tearing-down 
faculties and agnosticism, the Church still stands, even 
as it stood in our fathers’ time, and as it will ever stand.” 

“My dear Doctor, with all due respect and reverence, I 
must differ with you,” exclaimed Charles with great ani- 
mation. “The Church does not stand as in your father’s 
time. Thank the Lord theology is not stationary! The 


A Demonstration of Truth. 


237 


hell and superstition on which it stood, have been swept 
away and you have been swept with it. You are not a 
back number.” 

^That is partly true,” replied the doctor; ^^but think 
of the Church and what it represents. Compared to this, 
what a pitiful thing you seem. Yet you^ with your rash 
young blood, would try to pluck from the great Unknowa- 
ble mysteries that must ever remain hidden. Can you, 
with your reason, grapple with these mysteries of crea- 
tion, unravel the skein wound in eternity?” 

“Yes,” earnestly replied Charles. “Science demonstrates 
there is the unknown, but not the unknowable. Little by 
little. Nature yields her secrets. Every day demonstratew 
this. An eclipse was once considered the sign of an angry 
God. The very lightning that ran loose in the heavens, 
and before which your fathers stood in awe, as belonging 
to the unknowable, became known when a Franklin, an 
Edison, a Tesla came and with brain and hand that feared 
not, tore this mighty monster from the sky, and com- 
pelled it to yield its secret.” 

“Hear, hear! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” came in a 
chorus from the listeners. Charles, in his excitement, had 
risen from his chair and was standing in front of Dr. 
Malridge ; and for a moment, they seemed to have forgotten 
there was any one present. The scene had become quite 
dramatic. 

At that moment, a servant entered with a card for the 
doctor, who, excusing himself, left the room. This broke 
up the discussion. 

Dick Braintree had not uttered a word ; but he had been 
an interested listener. He, with Harry and the general 
and the young ladies, adjourned to the piazza to inspect 
the weather. Mrs. Tremaine was standing at the window 
talking to the general, who was on the outside. Mary had 


238 Mary Starkweather. 

not moved. Her cheek was again resting on her hand. 
She seemed to be lost in thought. Charles was leaning 
over the coilonel’s chair, talking. 

Suddenly, the sound of a hand-organ was heard in the 
distance, playing a gay air. Gertrude ran to the win- 
dow, and then ran back to Euth, exclaiming excitedly: 

‘^Oh, it’s a hand-organ man! Maybe they have a 
monkey. Don’t you want to see it?” 

But instead of replying, Euth turned her head as if 
looking for some one, and Gertrude said: 

‘^hat do you want? What are you looking for?” 

— I thought I heard some one say, ^Lift up your head,’ 
and I was looking to see who it was.” 

‘‘Well, lift it up,” said Gertrude. “I will help you.” 

She slipped her hand under Euth’s head and gently 
raised it, not without many little “o/i f oh ! ohs /” from Euth 
and spasmodic twinges. When her head was lifted up 
so that she was in a sitting position, she seemed very much 
surprised and pleased. Gertrude was passing her hands 
over her. 

The music seemed to be coming nearer, and Gertrude 
said: 

“How put your feet down, and I will help you to the 
window.” 

It took some little time to get first one foot down, then 
the other. Then came Gertrude’s coaxing voice: “Lean 
on me and I will help you to the window.” 

Mary had been watching the children. She now came 
forward and held out her arms, saying encouragingly: 
“Come to me, dear.” 

Euth, leaning on Gertrude, walked to Mary. In her 
delight at walking, Euth forgot all about the music; but 
looking toward her mother, called out: 


A Demonstration of Truth. 


239 


"See, see, mamma! I can walk.’^ 

Mrs. Tremaine turned and saw Kuth on her feet by 
Mary. Her mind only took in the awful consequence of 
any one’s moving the child; and in the fright of it, she 
made one step forward, exclaiming: 

"Euth, my child!” and fell unconscious to the floor. 

Colonel Eversoll was so shocked at seeing Mrs. Tremaine 
fall, that he sprang up and hastened to her. Harry, Dick, 
and the young ladies rushed in, and there was much com- 
motion. It was some moments before Mrs. Tremaine was 
restored to consciousness. She at once murmured, "Euth.” 

Mary held Euth toward her mother, who clasped her 
child in her arms, the tears streaming down her cheeks. 
Colonel Eversoll was much afiected and turned away. 
Gertrude came up to him and looking up in his face, said 
archly : 

"How is your foot. Colonel?” 

For an instant, one could have knocked down the colonel 
with a feather. He had been so shocked at seeing Euth 
on her feet and Mrs. Tremaine fall like a dead woman, 
that he had never thought of his foot. He looked down 
at it, then at Gertrude, and exclaimed: 

"Good God!” 

"Yes, He is a good God, for He has cured your foot.” 

The colonel understood, of course, that it was the shock 
and fright that had put him on his feet. But his words 
came back to him: "I will worship the God that cures 
me.” 

It was some minutes before any one took in the situa- 
tion beyond the fact that Mrs. Tremaine hqd fainted. 
When they began to realize that both the colonel and Euth 
were on their feet, the commotion became great. Guests 
began to gather in the drawing-room. "What is it?” 


240 Mary Starkweather. 

^^What is the matter?” ^^What has happened?” was on 
every lip. 

But there was no one able to offer any intelligent solu- 
tion. Mary and Charles, taking advantage of the con- 
fusion, had escaped to their room. 


Mrs. Tremaine Spurns Sidney Banks. 241 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MRS. TREMAINE SPURNS SIDNEY BANKS. 

The next morning there were so many things happen- 
ing at the same time in different parts of Willow Springs, 
that we will have to apologize to our reader for taking him 
from place to place in such an unconventional manner. 
But, as each event has much to do with the warp and woof 
of our story, we can ill avoid it. 

Physically, Sidney Banks had changed but little in these 
years; and morally not at all. He was still unmarried. 
Eight years previous, when he had seen the bubble of his 
vengeance burst, he was, for once, shocked into inactivity. 
But it was only temporary. He drew no lesson from it. 
Too long had he allowed his passions to drive him whither 
they would. Too long had he given himself loose rein. 
And it was only for a time that he ceased from his un- 
derhanded work. He was far more jealous of Charles than 
he ever had been of Hugh. He brooded over it until he 
actually convinced himself that Charles had usurped his 
place and rights. He had an everlasting discontent; and 
a desire to ruin them one and all. No opportunity had 
offered itself until Charles entered the political field. Here 


242 Mary Starkweather. 

was his chance, and he determined to defeat him if possi- 
ble. Sidney was a shrewd, scheming, political trickster. 
And he was backed and endorsed by men who measure a 
man’s greatness and patriotism by the amount of chicanery 
and deception and strategy he is capable of. Honesty 
would have disqualified him in their estimation. 

Sidney was here at Willow Springs, smiling and agree- 
able, meeting Mary, Charles, and the general in the most 
friendly way ; while secretly he was throwing out his lines 
in every direction for the purpose of defeating Charles. 
As usual, he waS using others to do his work. He was 
not the man to come out into the open and fight. He 
was the kind of man that would stab an enemy in the 
back. 

He never had quite recovered from the surprise and 
consternation of losing Mrs. Multon. He had set his spies 
to watch Mabelthorp, and it was long ere he learned she 
was not there. It had been always a mystery to him 
how she had escaped unobserved. He never had seen 
her from the day she sat under the old apple-tree until 
he entered the train weeks before, and recognized her in 
the elegantly dressed woman, bound for Willow Springs, 
with her little, invalid daughter. She was traveling with 
two servants — a maid and a trained nurse for her child. 
Sidney’s destination was not Willow Springs ; but he could 
not let this opportunity slip by of renewing, if possible, 
his acquaintance with Mrs. Multon. It was not difficult 
for this clever, handsome fellow to insinuate himself into 
the good graces of the pretty and susceptible French maid ; 
and to draw from her the information he desired in re- 
gard to her mistress. He learned she was still a widow; 
that her name was Tremaine; that she had lived much 
abroad. Beyond that the maid knew nothing. 

Sidney laughed to himself and thought : wonder how 


Mrs. Tremaine Spurns Sidney Banks. 243 

many more names she has. ^Tremaine.^ Eeally, it is 
rather an improvement on the name of ^Multon.’ ^Bere- 
nice Tremaine^ — quite aristocratic.^^ 

He was really very much struck by her great beauty 
and style. There was nothing of the parvenu about her. 
She had the manner of one born to the purple. Sidney 
was enough of a connoisseur to see that. 

^^My ! One would never think, to look at that woman, 
that she had ever known what it was to want for bread — 
had actually been an object of charity.” 

It was wonderful to him. He could hardly believe his 
eyes. Yet, it only whetted his interest. 

^^She is a clever manager, anyway, and evidently puts 
a high price on herself. I would like to know who is 
putting up the money for all this.” 

Such were his vulgar thoughts. It never entered his 
head that she might have come honestly by her prosperity. 
He at once concluded to change his destination and go 
to Willow Springs. He also determined, when he met 
Mrs. Tremaine, not to let her see that he recognized her. 
He would show perfect ignorance of the past. He be- 
lieved this would best insure further acquaintance with 
her. He feared if she saw that he recognized her, she 
might suddenly disappear, as she had done before. 

Mrs. Tremaine had seen Sidney as he stood on the plat- 
form before entering the car. She knew him instantly. 
For a moment, she thought of flight. But no. The life 
of her child was at stake, perhaps. She must not fail 
to consult Dr. Cline, and besides, Sidney might not be 
going to Willow Springs. At any rate, she was mistress 
of herself and her own actions. She was also flnancially 
independent. She would brave the worst. She felt she 
knew the man, and that he would at once approach her, 
and she fortified herself for the ordeal. 


244 Mary Starkweather. 

She was now waiting for him to see her and recognize 
her, which she felt confident he would do. She apparently 
became absorbed in her book. But he evidently took no 
notice of her. He chatted away to different men he met 
on the train. lie passed in and out of the car without 
apparently bestowing a glance upon her. Hope sprang 
up in her breast. She knew the man had no delicacy of 
feeling, and that he would not do this to spare her. She 
felt confident he would take more pleasure in humiliating 
her. Then, could it be he really did not recognize her? 
She arose and went to the dressing-room and critically 
looked at herself in the glass. 

^‘You poor, poor woman,” she soliloquized. You have 
changed wonderfully. Tine feathers make fine birds.’ 
Are you the same woman, with tear-stained face, and the 
one, rusty, black dress? No; you are not the same. She 
was poor and friendless and a starving outcast; and her 
name was Multon. She died and was buried eight long 
years ago. And from her ashes you have sprung. You 
are Mrs. Berenice Allicia Tremaine, wealthy, distinguished, 
independent. No. I do not believe he recognizes me.” 

She felt assured of this, when, as she arose to leave 
the train, she dropped her purse, and Sidney sprang for- 
ward and restored it to her, looking her full in the face 
with not the slightest recognition in his eyes, as he lifted 
his hat and made one of his most deferential bows. It 
must be confessed that he was a little taken back by her 
self-possession. 

He was not a little surprised when she alighted at ex- 
clusive ^^Willowby Rest.” He knew the rules of the 
house ; and he was anxious to know what key had unlocked 
the portals, how she had obtained entrance to this charm- 
ing house. He was at home here. He knew Mrs. Pres- 
ton well. She was very fond of him, and he soon learned 


Mrs. Tremaine Spurns Sidney Banks. 245 

that when Mrs. Tremaine had written for rooms, she had 
enclosed a letter of introduction from Governor Van Gor- 
don, of Vermont, who solicited for Mrs. Tremaine and her 
little, invalid daughter Mrs. Preston’s tenderest sympathy. 
Beyond that, Mrs. Preston knew nothing about her. Gov- 
ernor Van Gordon and his family always spent a few weeks 
at Willowby Rest every year, and she could not refuse to 
receive into her house any guest he might send her, even 
had she wished to decline, which certainly, in this case, 
she did not. She was charmed with Mrs. Tremaine until 
she saw what universal attention was bestowed upon her. 
Then, Mrs. Tremaine minded her own business so thor- 
oughly that for that reason, if for no other, Mrs. Preston 
was convinced that there was something wrong in regard 
to her. 

Sidney skilfully sought and obtained a formal introduc- 
tion to Mrs. Tremaine. He was received with politeness. 
At first, he watched the sensation her personality caused, 
and it amused him to see how regally she bore herself. 
He felt that it was a huge joke, and rejoiced that it was 
an illusion that he could break by a word at any moment. 

She was very retiring and sought no one; but her self- 
possession and dignity commanded the admiration of every 
one. Ho one questioned the iumates of Willowby Rest, 
and it amused him to see how she ^Took people in,” as he 
put it. He looked upon her as an adventuress. How- 
ever, her cleverness greatly raised her in his estimation. 

He tried to cultivate an intimacy with her, and, at 
times, to show a warmer emotion; but at the least ap- 
proach of familiarity, she grew instantly cold. He list- 
ened to her as she talked, and found she was possessed of 
superior mental endowments. Every day she surprised 
him more and more. He never could manage to get a 
word with her alone. 


246 Mary Starkweather. 

About this time, Harry Burbank appeared upon the 
scene. Sidney hated him as he did Charles. Had not 
these two men stepped in, years before, and wrested his 
revenge from him? He soon detected that Harry was 
interested in Mrs. Tremaine. He watched with baleful, 
wicked eyes. In vain he tried to discover if his rival 
found favor. She apparently treated all alike. 

Sidney went to the city occasionally. Those days as 
well as the ones that Mrs. Tremaine spent in her room, be- 
gan to seem long to him. He began to feel dissatisfied 
with himself. Little by little, this woman had taken 
possession of him. Suddenly he realized that he had a 
different feeling for her than the one that usually thrilled 
his fancy; that it was more than a passing whim. He 
cherished her every look, and it seemed to him that life 
would be really sweeter if he could have this woman to 
himself. At last, the heart of this worldly, selfish man 
was touched. He was nearer being in love than ever be- 
fore. 

Harry was proud of his family and name ; and, at times, 
when Sidney saw the honorable and respectful deference 
with which Harry treated Mrs. Tremaine, he felt it would 
be a great revenge to see him marry her. But no. He 
had at last become so attached to her, her image so filled 
his mind, that even to gratify his desire for revenge he 
felt he could not give her up. And this human leper be- 
gan wishing to himself that she was really a decent wom- 
an, so he could offer her honorable marriage. 

But when he became really infatuated, and tried to give 
her some proof of it, she chilled him with her cold re- 
ception. He became fierce with jealousy. 

And now, a new cause of alarm presented itself, that 
made him tremble for his plans. Mary had appeared 
upon the scene. He never doubted but that she would 


Mrs. Tremaine Spurns Sidney Banks. 247 

recognize Mrs. Tremaine. He did not take into consid- 
eration how little Mary really had seen of Mrs. Multon. 

Sidney chanced to be at the station when the Thorn- 
tons arrived, and was much chagrined to find they were 
going to Willowby Best. When he reached the hotel he 
met the landlady who gave him, with many embellish- 
ments, the scene in detail with Carl. Sidney hated chil- 
dren. He loved to hector them, and he never lost an 
opportunity to tease Carl. Consequently, Carl hated him 
thoroughly. 

Sidney was about to ascend to his room^ when Harry, 
with pale face and agitated manner,- hurried past. He 
went to the drawing-room door and looked in. He saw 
Mrs. Tremaine. . He felt there had been a crisis of some 
kind. Harry did not wear the face of a victor. There- 
fore, Sidney became hopeful. A moment later, Mrs. Tre- 
maine passed him on her way to her room. He noticed her 
heightened color. Otherwise, she was as self-possessed as 
ever. 

The next day, when they all met in the drawing-room, 
Sidney was surprised to find that Mrs. Tremaine and 
Mary had met without recognition. He also was surprised 
to see Harry approach Mrs. Tremaine as usual; but he 
did observe one thing, and that was that on Harry’s ap- 
proach the hot blood flooded her face. Instantly he was 
wild with jealousy. There was a devilish glitter in his 
eye, as cold and hard as steel, as he covertly watched 
them. Harry apparently only made some passing remark, 
and immediately left her. 

And this was why Sidney had left the room so sud- 
denly the afternoon before. He felt, that with his failure 
to come to an understanding with her, he was giving 
her opportunities of meeting others. He had tried to 
see her alone, but had always failed. He would put a stop 


248 Mary Starkweather. 

lo it if he had to go to her rooms and force himself upon 
her. She should see him. He had, at last, arrived at the 
conclusion that love, with her, might have some rapture, 
be something more than a passing whim. He would ask her 
to become his wife. He felt sure his millions would be an in- 
ducement. Xot for a moment did he think of making her 
legally so ; but if he could win her consent, it would be an 
easy matter to deceive her. He had no scruples about de- 
ceiving any woman, and certainly not one of this sort. 
Of course when she found out the deception, there would 
be a scene ! but that did not matter. Upon realizing that 
she was in his power, she would then, no doubt, settle 
down and be reasonable enough. 

There was but one thing that puzzled Sidney, and that 
did give him a good deal of concern. He had been to 
Clinton, recently, and going into the private office of one 
of the banks, he stood talking to one of the directors, as 
the postman laid down the mail. And there, directly 
on top, was a letter, addressed in a strong, masculine hand, 
to Mrs. B. A. Multon. He asked no questions; but he 
knew one of the confidential clerks. After some little de- 
lay, he learned that every six months, regularly, a hand- 
some sum of money was deposited in the bank for Mrs. 
Multon by some unknown man. So far, this was all he 
could learn. Who could the man be? It passed his com- 
prehension and puzzled him sorely. He was determined 
to ferret out the whole matter ; but now, the thing was to 
get her to consent to become his wife. So far, Sidney 
had shown Mrs. Tremaine only his most courtly manners. 
He did not try to conceal from her, nor from any one, his 
admiration for her. Indeed, he rather enjoyed the frown 
he saw gather on the face of more than one woman when 
he approached Mrs. Tremaine with open admiration. 

The next morning, after the dramatic episode in the 


Mrs, Tremaine Spurns Sidney Banks. 249 

drawing-room, when the whole house was in a ferment 
of gossip and talk about it, he determined to force an in- 
terview. Accordingly, he purchased a bunch of queenly 
roses, and kept them ready in his room, as an excuse for 
calling on her as soon as he could see the coast clear. 

He saw the nurse and maid go out on the lawn with 
little Euth. He took the flowers and went at once to 
Mrs. Tremaine’s room. He knocked, once, twice, thrice. 
Ho response. He even had the assurance to turn the 
knob. The door was locked. A good deal disappointed, 
he was returning to his room, when, glancing into the little 
reception-room we have before mentioned, he saw Mrs. 
Tremaine. She - was sitting on a low couch, reading a 
letter. It must be confessed that his heart beat a little 
faster at sight of her. He had grown fond of her and 
wanted so much to win her. 

Mrs. Tremaine was very happy this morning on account 
of Euth’s recovery; she had an unusually bright smile 
as she glanced up at his entrance. A slight shade of an- 
noyance passed over her face as she returned his salutation, 
which increased when he said, in his most engaging man- 
ner, as he presented the flowers: 

have been looking for you. See ; I have brought you 
the season’s choicest offering^ this bunch of roses.” 

She took them mechanically, glanced at them carelessly, 
slightly inhaling their perfume, and laid them on the 
couch beside her with an indifferent air. 

‘‘Thank you. They are very lovely. You are very 
kind.” 

Sidney was watching her narrowly, and her indifference 
somewhat shook his confidence in himself. His voice was 
trembling and his face flushed as he said: 

“Very lovely? My dear Mrs. Tremaine, do these rose6 
bring you no other message than their beauty? I hoped 


250 Mary Starkweather. 

they would tell another tale — ^that they would speak for 
me what I fear to say for myself.” 

For once he was terribly in earnest. He really was a 
very handsome man. As he leaned toward her, his dark, 
hypnotic eyes were burning into her, his voice was thrill- 
ing with the passion and emotion inspired by her presence. 
She drew back and rising hastily, said: 

^‘Mr. Banks, I do not understand you. You will ex- 
cuse me.” 

^^Do not go,” he said, detaining her. ^‘^You do' not 
understand? Do they not tell you that I love you? — 
that 

^^Stop, Mr. Banks. No — ^no; not another word, I beg 
of you. It can do no good and it will be painful to both 
of us.” 

‘^Then you do not love me ?” 
do not.” 

^'Listen to me. I love you sincerely, and I ask you to 
become my wife.” 

At these words she turned and looked into those fierce, 
burning eyes as if she would read his very soul. He stood 
with beating heart, almost breathless, waiting for her an- 
swer. 

^‘1 thank you, but I cannot become your wife.” 

^^Yhy not?” he asked fiercely, growing pale. 

have no love to give. Let us not prolong this in- 
terview, Mr. Banks,” said Mrs. Tremaine, turning to leave 
the room. 

‘Y^ou love another !” said he, detaining her. There was 
a devilish glitter in his eye. 

Mrs. Tremaine drew herself up haughtily. 

"You forget yourself, Mr. Banks. You will be good 
enough to let me pass.” 


Mrs. Tremaine Spurns Sidney Banks. 251 

^^You love Harry Burbank !” he hissed, as he seized her 
arm. ‘Tut I swear he shall not come between us.” 

“Mr. Banks,” she said imperiously, “it is cowardly to 
detain a lady against her will.” 

“A ladyT he sneered. “Cowardly?” 

“Yes, cowardly. You deserve to be branded publicly 
as the coward that you are.” She was white and trem- 
bling. 

“Branded publicly!” with a fiendish laugh. “We will 
see who will bear it best to be branded publicly — ^you or I, 
Berenice Multon.” 

She started as if some one had thrust her with a poinard. 

“Ah, ha ! you see I know you in spite of your fine airs 
and splendid dress.” 

She turned away from him, and, for a moment, seemed 
overcome as she sank back on the couch. 

“I know more than that,” he continued. “I know that 
money is deposited, monthly, in the bank at Clinton for 
you. You love Harry Burbank. You have, no doubt, 
thought to entrap him with your haughty ways; to wear 
his old and honored name ; and spend his millions. I hate 
him, but 

Mrs. Tremaine put up her hand with a despairing ges- 
ture as she almost crouched. Sidney^s face was positively 
Satanic as he continued: 

“He is proud of his name and his blood. What do you 
think he would say if he knew who you are? Do you 
think he would love or marry a woman like you — unknown 
— who can give no good account of herself; who flaunts 
and dresses on money that is given her by some man whose 
mis 

“Stop ! ere woman that I am, I slay you ! And you a 
man? Have you no shame?” 

She had sprung to her feet. Her eyes were blazing. 


252 Mary Starkweather. 

‘^You dare to speak to me like this! You coward!” 

She turned to leave the room. He sprang forward and 
seized her fiercely by the arm. 

^^You think to spurn me and favor that man. By 
heaven, you shall not! If you would save your name in 
this house, look to it. You understand me, now,” he 
said, menacingly. 

Wrenching herself loose from his grasp, and drawing 
herself up to her full height, she exclaimed, trium- 
phantly : 

understand you fully ; but you do not understand me. 
Know this: I love Harry Burbank as I hate and despise 
you. I love him with all my strength, with all my soul, 
and I will love him while life lasts and will love him after 
death. I glory in it. Now, do your worst. I defy you.” 

Before he could prevent it, she was out of the room. 

‘^Curse ]ier devilish independence ! Have I waited all 
these years to be thwarted now? Not by the beards of 
all the prophets! I will find some way to humble her. 
God ! Was ever a woman as beautiful as she ! No woman 
ever took such utter possession of mco” 

He felt he would give worlds to have her say of him 
what she had said of Harry. He knew Harry would not 
marry the kind of woman he believed her to be. He was de- 
termined to expose her; but first, he would try to find 
out who this man was that was supplying her with money 
to live in this sumptuous style. 

He went to his room to ponder, and to nurse his wrath. 
He loved her all the more for her defiant attitude. He 
had no intention of giving her up. He would lose no 
time. He would go at once, that very morning, to Clin- 
ton, and ferret out the whole matter. He would then have 
her in his power. 

When ]\Irs. Tremaine reached her room, she almost fell 


Mrs. Tremaine Spurns Sidney Banks. 253 

into a chair. She did not know how much of the past 
Sidney really knew; and the thought that she might lose 
favor in the eyes of the man she truly loved, was distract- 
ing. Then, summoning all her resolution, she determined 
to go without delay to Mary and make herself known, 
and ask for her advice. Donning her hat and catching 
up a sunshade, she started for Bethesda. 


254 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

DOCTOR CLINE. 

Dr. Cline was an eminent German physician and snr- . 
geon. He was a Jew. He had a world-wide reputation. 
He had come to America for the purpose of working out 
certain scientific problems, which, for special reasons, could 
be done more advantageously here. He had located at 
Willow Springs, for the time being. As soon as it became 
known that he was in this country, he was besieged with 
patients. He had an office in Willowby Rest Hotel and 
was resident physician there. But his main office was in 
the sanatorium where patients were taken and a regular 
corps of surgeons and nurses was in attendance. 

Dr. Cline was a man of culture and wide research. He 
was humane, broad-minded, and impressed to the highest 
degree with the responsibility of his position as physician 
and surgeon. He had added much to his fame since com- 
ing to America, where his successes in his profession had 
been marvelous. 

We will ask the reader to go with us to the private offices 
and operating-room of Dr. Cline at the sanatorium. Hero, 
there were framed diplomas on the wall. A well-mounted 
skeleton occupied one corner. There were some colored 
pictures showing the human heart, the lungs, and the in- 
terior of the stomach. A colored figure in sections that 


Doctor Cline. 


255 


could be taken apart to show the anatomy of the human 
body, a funereal device for generating oxygen, an electrical 
apparatus, cases of instruments, and operating tables were 
also to be seen. 

At this moment an operation had just been finished in 
the presence of attendants, medical students, and nurses. 
The patient lay on a stretcher. Dr. Cline and his asso- 
ciate, Dr. Chester, stood wiping their instruments. There 
were signs of blood to be seen, and, taken altogether, it 
was a rather gruesome spectacle — ^the rigid, ghastly, death- 
like form on the stretcher, the eager, silent faces of the stu- 
dents and nurses, and the tense look on Dr. Cline^s face. 
Addressing the nurse, he said : 

^^You must watch him closely. We have done our part; 
see that you do yours. Eemember, a dark room and noth- 
ing but liquids.^’ 

will do my best. Dr. Cline,^^ she replied, as she followed 
the attendants who were carrying out the patient. 

The rest of the students and nurses filed out after her, 
only the doctors remaining. Dr. Chester sat at a table and 
was cleaning and polishing his instruments that he had been 
using. He seemed to take the keenest delight in his occu- 
pation. Finally he said: 

^Tt has been a most successful operation.” 

‘^Tt has, indeed, thank God,” fervently replied Dr. Cline. 

^^Oh ! by the way, did I tell you about the operation we 
performed on the brain of a man at Eichmond, the other 
day?” 

^^No, you did not. What was the operation ?” 

Dr. Chester, who had been almost caressing his instru- 
ments, now holding one between his thumb and finger, sus- 
pended his polishing, as he replied with great relish : 

^Tt was an ugly tumor, and required the most delicate 
handling. The dura-mater was freely opened, and follow- 


256 Mary Starkweather, 

ing the course of the fibrous growth, and also by removing 
a small portion of the cortical substance, the whole tumor 
was successfully extirpated. The knife was used in pref- 
erence to the galvano-eautery as deemed more promising 
for the rapid healing of the wound.” 

“That was indeed a delicate operation,” said Dr. Cline, 
deeply interested. “And it was successful?” 

“Oh, yes! the operation could not have been beaten,” 
replied Dr. Chester, resuming his polishing. 

“How fortunate. Was there no fever, no complications 
developed in the patient?” queried Dr. Cline. 

“The patient?” said Dr. Chester, looking up, as if that 
were an altogether secondary consideration. Then laugh- 
ing he replied: “Oh! he died. But the operation was 
splendid — one of the most thoroughly scientific I ever saw.” 
He was holding up a beautifully brilliant instrument with 
a sharp blade, and he added: “How I love these instru- 
ments.” 

A look of surprise, almost of disgust, swept over the face 
of Dr. Cline, as he replied: 

“I only love them for the good they do. I wish I might 
never have occasion for their use again.” 

“Well, in a way, I suppose we all feel so,” good-naturedly 
laughed Dr. Chester ; ^fi)ut I love my profession. It is meat 
and drink to me, and I confess I am never so happy as 
when I know there is a difficult operation to perform.” 

“And I always dread it. I have operated on over two 
hundred and fifty cases, and I never have lost one under 
the knife ; yet, I never take an instrument in my hands to 
operate with that my heart does not tremble if my hand 
does not. There is a great responsibility resting upon 
those who undertake to restore the health and preserve 
the life of others. Ho one should assume such risks who 
does not feel his responsibility to the utmost.” 


Doctor Cline. 


257 


Dr. Cline spoke with much feeling. Dr. Chester was 
about to reply when an attendant announced to Dr. Cline 
that a lady wished to see him. Without waiting to hear Dr. 
Chester's reply, he passed into the next room and found 
there a lady, about forty years old, fashionably dressed, and 
evidently a woman of much stability of character. But she 
had a nervous, anxious look. 

‘^Good morning, Mrs. Grey, good morning,” said Dr. 
Cline. ‘^How is your husband this morning?” 

^^About the same as usual. Doctor. I have called to 
talk with you a little more about the operation you pro- 
pose. Did I understand you to say that the operation 
could only prolong my husband’s life, but would not cure 
him?” 

^^Quite true, madam. That is the most we can hope 
for. Without the operation he cannot live six weeks. If 
the operation is successful, he may live six months — possi- 
bly a year.” 

^^You say if it is successful. Is there any doubt of it 
being so?” 

^^My dear madam, we can never tell what complications 
may arise. Your husband is very weak, and the operation 
a severe one. Of course, we hope for the best,” said Dr. 
Cline, encouragingly. 

At this moment Mr. Burton was ushered into the room. 

^^Ah! Mr. Burton, good morning,” said Dr. Cline, ris- 
ing. 

Mr. Burton, after saluting Mrs. Grey, turned to Dr. 
Cline: 

just stepped in for the medicine you suggested for 
my wife.” 

will get it for you;” and excusing himself to Mrs. 
Grey, Dr. Cline went into the next room. 

^‘How is your wife, Mr. Burton?” inquired Mrs. Grey. 


258 Mary Starkweather. 

^^She is improving slowly, but still improving. After 
such a severe operation the recovery must be necessarily 
slow. However, the worst is over. I feel as if I could 
hot live through it again. The hour my wife was on the 
operating-table, I suffered a thousand deaths. It is hor- 
rible, horrible — ^not only for the patient, but for those 
near and dear. I pray God I may never have another such 
erperience.” 

^^ut it has been successful? She will get well?^^ 

^^Yes. I look upon Dr. Cline as a most wonderful man. 
He has a world-wide reputation. He has performed some 
miraculous cures since coming here. But I am selfish. 
I have not inquired after your husband.” 

‘T am distracted !” nervously exclaimed Mrs. Grey. ^‘The 
most the doctor promises, in his case, is to prolong his life 
for a few months. Should the operation not prove suc- 
cessful, I would lose him now. My husband has left it 
all for me to decide. Oh, I don’t know what to do !” and 
she seemed quite overcome. 

Mr. Burton’s recent experience awakened in him the 
strongest sympathy, and he asked : 

^^May I tell you what I would do?” 

“Yes, do,” almost hysterically sobbed Mrs. Grey. 

“I would consult with the inmates of the new sana- 
torium.” 

Mrs. Grey dropped her handkerchief from her tear- 
stained face and looked at him as if she thought he had 
taken definite leave of his senses. 

“Why, what could they do ?” she asked in astonishment. 

“I do not know; but in your husband’s case, I feel it 
would do no harm, at least.” 

“My dear Mr. Burton, some things might be relieved 
by diverting the mind; but for other diseases I fear the 
knife is the only remedy.” 


Doctor Cline. 


259 


^^You have heard of the cure of Colonel Eversoll? We 
all know how helpless he was. How do you account for 
it?” 

^^The doctor says it was the result of a mental shock, 
and that he is liable to relapse at any time.” 

^^How does he account for the cure of the little girl?” 

^^Much in the same way— through excitement of the 
nerves.” 

admit Dr. Cline’s goodness and skill. Nevertheless, 
you know he pronounced Colonel Eversoll and little Euth 
incurable. I have seen them both this morning. The 
child is very weak; but she can sit up and stand on her 
feet and walk a little way, and is entirely without pain. 
The whole expression of her face is changed. She seems 
perfectly well. And the colonel is radiant. The swell- 
ing has almost disappeared from his foot, and he believes 
he is cured.” 

^^The doctor says it’s only temporary.” 

^^Well, suppose he does relapse. He is having a little 
fun in the meantime,” laughed Mr. Burton. ^Tf under 
the treatment of a regular physician he had obtained such 
relief he would be shouting his praises; and should he re- 
lapse he would not blame his physician, but he would 
employ him again.” 

‘T can’t understand it. It all seems such utter non- 
sense,” said Mrs. Grey. 

“That is the trouble,” said Mr. Burton. “Everything 
that people don’t quite comprehend, they call clap-trap. 
After all, why should we, as Christians, think it strange? 
I think it’s worth investigating, at least. The results that 
we have seen, demonstrate that it must contain some ele- 
ments of truth.” 

“But they say they cure through thought. Now, how 
can thought cure my husband?” incredulously questioned 
Mrs. Grey. 


26 o Mary Starkweather. 

“Emerson says, ^We are greater than we know.^ Thought 
is the most potent force in the universe. It infinitely sur- 
passes electric force. We are slowly waking up to simple 
truths. Thought-currents are creative; and in spite of 
all the unalloyed humbugs, I am convinced there is some- 
thing in this theory. As I said before, it can do no harm 
to try it, and I would not let my prejudice stand in the 
way.” 

Mrs. Grey had listened intently to Mr. Burton. She 
knew he was not a chimerical thinker, and she saw that he 
had been deeply impressed. There came a bright look in 
her face as she exclaimed : 

“Oh, if it were possible for them to cure my husband !” 

“Well, Dr. Cline merely promises to prolong his life. 
What is mere life without immunity from pain ? As near 
as I can understand it, most patients the metaphysicians 
have are the ‘incurables.’ ” 

“I declare, Mr. Burton, you have almost inspired me 
with hope. At least it will do no harm to consult with 
them. Even a few days’ respite from pain would be such 
a relief.” 

At this moment, the voice of some one in distress came 
to them from the adjoining room. The door was slightly 
ajar, and every word was plainly audible. 

“Oh, don’ you tole me dot. Dr. Cline! Don’ say dere 
vas no hope.” 

“That ear of yours has been operated upon twice, and the 
disease is so far advanced that there is no power on earth 
can save you,” came the voice of Dr. Cline. 

“Oh, don’ say dot, Dr. Cline. I doesn’t vant to die. 
Save me. Dr. Cline. You can do it, I know. I have 
money — ^blenty of money. I make you rich. I give you 
overyding. Only (^on’ Dt me die.” 

“Come, come, Mr. Solmon. You and I belong to the 


Doctor Cline. 


261 


same race; but I shall feel like disowning you if you are 
not more of a man. Come, brace up ; remember we all ha\re 
to die some time.” 

^^Yes, some dime, but not now — ^mine Gott! not now. 
Dr. Cline. I vas not reaty yet. Pi-und-pi, I bees more 
reaty — pi-und-pi.” 

am sorry, very sorry for you, Mr. Solmon,” came the 
kindly, sympathetic voice of Dr. Cline. ‘^There, take him 
home, Jacob.” And the outer door of the room opened 
and closed on our old friend, Isaac Solmon. 

Dr. Cline entered the room where Mrs. Grey and Mr. 
Burton were waiting. Dr. Cline gave the medicine to 
Mr. Burton, saying: 

'instruct the nurse to follow the directions most care- 
fully. This is a very busy morning with me, as we still 
have another operation to perform. Mrs. Grey, we must 
look after your husband at once. Delays are dangerous, 
you know,” said Dr. Cline as he bowed Mrs. Grey and 
Mr. Burton out. 

When Dr. Cline re-entered the operating room, the phy- 
sician and nurses were already there with the patient — 
a young and beautiful woman of about twenty-five years 
of age; a Mrs. White. She was clinging convulsively to 
her husband. Dr. Malridge was with them, and in his ten- 
der, fatherly way, he was trying to stimulate the patient 
with words of hope. The husband and wife were his 
parishioners. Mr. White was pale as death and very nerv- 
ous. He turned to Dr. Cline: 

^^You are sure there is no danger. Dr. Cline?” , 
think not. My dear sir, you must be brave. It is 
really a very simple operation. It will soon be over. You 
and Dr. Malridge had better go now.” 

Mrs. White heard the doctor’s words, and stretching out 
her arms toward her husband, she exclaimed wildly: 


262 Mary Starkweather. 

“Oh, do not leave me!” and fell unconscious into his 
arms. 

They laid her on a couch, and everything was done to 
restore her; but to no purpose. At last Dr. Cline said 
sorrowfully, and with tears in his eyes: 

“She is dead — frightened to death, poor child!” 

At these words from the doctor, Mr. White, who had 
been almost beside himself with anxiety, cried: 

“Marie, Marie ! Dead, dead ! Oh, my God 1” and he 
sank like a stricken animal into Dr. Malridge’s arms, who, 
in his most benignant and fatherly manner, said, as he 
tried to comfort him: 

“My son, my son, it is a hard blow ! But you must try 
to bear it ; remember it is His will. The Lord gave and the 
Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord,” 
repeated Dr. Malridge, reverentially. 

The hair on the head that rested against the fatherly 
breast, was black. The body was convulsed with dry, tear- 
less sobs. Hot one tear-drop came to relieve the anguished 
soul. In less than one hour the head was as white as 
that of an old man. 

Later, when Dr. Cline was discussing the events of the 
morning with Dr. Chester, he said: 

“It just demonstrates the power of the mind. There 
was neither knife nor drug used. There was no need for 
alarm. There was no reason why she should not have lived 
for years. If only she could have had a little courage! 
The thought of the knife frightened her to death. It was 
undoubtedly her mind; and it was his mind that changed 
the fluid in his hair and turned it white.” 

“Take care. Doctor,” laughed Dr. Chester. “The first 
thing we know, you will be joining Mrs. Thornton’s 
ranks.” 

“Ho danger,” replied Dr. Cline; “I have long believed 


Doctor Cline. 


263 

in mental therapeutics, to a certain extent; but I have no 
patience with' the persons who are overconfident and believe 
in the universal efficacy of the mental method.” 

It is strange when something ^happens to open our eyes 
to a truth, how many things we see and hear that verify it 
— ^things that previously we passed by without a thought. 
And now they come before us like a revelation. 

When Dr. Malridge left the sanatorium, one of the nurses 
wlio was aware of his fondness for roses, handed him a large 
bunch of long-stemmed American Beauties. x\round the 
stems, she had wrapped a part of a newspaper. 

The doctor was very much depressed by the events of the 
morning. Mr. and Mrs. White were great favorites of 
his ; he had baptized them and married them. He felt they 
belonged to him. 

When he reached Willowby Best, instead of at once 
entering the house, he sat down under the shade of a tree. 
He took off his hat and placed it on the seat beside him; 
and drawing a snowy handkerchief from his pocket, he 
passed it over his damp forehead. He really felt quite 
overcome. He still held the roses in his hand. The deli- 
cious perfume that he loved so well, seemed to soothe and 
refresh him. He lifted them and buried his face in them, 
inhaling their fragrance. The delicate petals seemed to 
cool his flushed and heated face. One luscious, half- 
opened bud seemed too confined by the paper about the 
stems, and he was about to loosen it that the flowers might 
have more room, when the following headlines met his 
eye: 


264 


Mary Starkweather. 


^^THE SUEGEONS’ KNIVES SCAEED HER TO 
DEATH. 


WALTMAN EXPIRED SUDDENLY AS SHE PREPARED FOR 
AN OPERATION. 


^^Mrs. Waltman, wife of John Waltman, of North Bergen, 
N. J., died suddenly Tuesday afternoon. Mrs. Waltman 
had been ill for some time, and decided to undergo an oper- 
ation. The time was set for the operation. 

‘^The physician arrived shortly after noon, prepared for 
the undertaking. Mrs. Waltman went upstairs and pre- 
pared for the physicians. A moment later they were called 
upstairs by a frightened attendant. Mrs. Waltman was 
dead. 

^^The cause of death is attributed to heart disease, 
brought on by a dread of the results of the operation she 
was about to undergo. The body will he cremated at 
Fresh Pond, Long Island.” 

He looked for the name and date of the paper. It was 
The New YorJc Journal, of January 26th, 1899. 

The doctor sighed and recalled Mary’s remark of the 
night before : 

^T)octors and clergymen have scared plenty of people 
to death.” 

Had he read this same thing a few days previous, he 
would not have given it any particular thought. Now, it 
kept recurring to him; but he was not willing to think it 
was mind. He believed rather in an especial Providence. 

«♦**** :(; 4 : 

On reaching home, Mr. Burton sat down by the side 
of his wife, and began cutting the leaves of a new maga- 


Doctor Cline. 265 

zine. When he had finished he opened it, and the fixst 
thing that his eyes fell on was: 

^‘Unkind treatment of cows will generate a poison in 
their milk. And this unkind treatment is not confined 
to blows or neglect — sl point to be seriously considered 
by those who have young children dependent on cow’s 
milk. Angry words or loud abuse will disturb cows. 
Horses, too, are affected in a like manner, and made nerv- 
ous and irritable by profanity directed against them. 
Laughter, as we all know, will hurt the feelings of a sen- 
sitive dog accustomed to the friendship of a family.” 

Had Mr. Burton read this a week previous, he would 
have been as interested in it as he was now; for he was 
much interested in animals, and had made quite a study 
of them, and he was fond of learning their peculiarities. 
But at this moment he was thinking only of his boy; and 
the hot blood surged to his brow, and a sense of suffo- 
cation and a feeling of shame came over him at the recol- 
lection of his unintentional neglect. Neither did the 
fact that it had been unintentional modify his regret of 
the past. It only increased his mortification that he 
could have been so miserably blind. 
******** 

Mrs. Grey stepped into her carriage, after leaving Dr. 
Cline’s office, and drove away. She was sick at heart. 
The little flame of hope that had flickered up in her 
heart, lasted but a moment. She was a very domestic 
woman. She loved her home and her husband. They 
were moderately well off, and she had passed an unusu- 
ally happy married life. Her husband was three years 
her senior, just in his prime. She felt keenly the cruelty 
of losing him now and that she never could become recon- 


266 Mary Starkweather. 

ciled to it. She was completely lost in her own gloomy 
forebodings. Mrs. Thornton, Mr. Burton, all had drifted 
entirely from her mind when the carriage drew up before 
her own cottage. She ascended the steps wearily. She 
met her daughter, Edna, at the door, who informed her 
that her father was sleeping, and that luncheon was wait- 
ing. 

At the table, her daughter was reading little paragraphs 
from the morning paper. Suddenly she remarked: 

“Here is a peculiar thing;” and she read: 

“ 'The infant son of Mr. and Mrs. Claude Hamersley 
passed away yesterday morning. Until night before last 
the child was in perfect health, and a peculiar reason is 
assigned as the cause of the sudden death. It seems that 
day before yesterday morning, Mr. Hamersley’s horses 
took fright and started to run away. Mrs. Hamersley, 
watching them from the window, saw her husband thrown 
violently from the buggy. She thought he was killed. 
She ran to him and was relieved when she found he was 
only stunned. But she was terribly frightened, became 
hysterical, and it was some time before she could recover 
control of herself. She nursed her babe as usual. Very 
soon afterward he went into spasms and died. The phy- 
sicians claimed death was caused by the fright of the 
mother which poisoned the milk in the breast. 

“'It is wonderful, when one comes to think about it, 
what a power the mind really is and what an influence it 
has over the body.’ ” 

“Do you think it could be possible that a fright to the 
mother could cause the death of the child?” asked Edna. 

“I have heard of similar cases,” replied her mother, 
her mind at once reverting to the conversation with Mr. 


Doctor Cline. 


267 

Burton, ^^but I never thought of it in that light before. 
It never occurred to me that it was mind in operation.’^ 

“Isn^t that something like the ideas they say Mrs. 
Thornton advances?^'’ 

“I think so/^ replied Mrs. Grey; and she recounted to 
her daughter the whole of the conversation with Mr. 
Burton. 

Mr. Burton had a reputation for excellent judgment ; 
and hearing that he had advised her mother to consult 
Mrs. Thornton, Edna became very much interested, and 
she exclaimed excitedly: 

You will go, mamma, won’t you ? Who knows? Per- 
haps something may yet be done for dear papa. Do not 
delay; but go at once. I wish you would let me go with 
you.” 

"You shall go if you wish,” said Mrs. Grey, rising. 
"Do you know, when Mr. Burton talked to me, I felt a 
little hope ; but I lost it all before I reached home. That 
article in the paper has given me new hope. If mind can 
do so much harm it may have the power to do some 
good.” 

After consulting with the nurse and finding her hus- 
band was still resting, she, with her daughter, entered the 
carriage to drive to Bethesda Sanatorium. 


268 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

BETHESDA SANATORIUM, AND COTTAGE PLACE. 

The cure of Colonel Eversoll and little Ruth had 
caused a wonderful commotion, in comparison to which 
an earthquake would have been tame. And the announce- 
ment that the new Sanatorium belonged to Mrs. Thorn- 
ton, and that it would be under her personal supervision, 
came like a thunder-clap to Willow Springs, and to Mary’s 
acquaintances, especially. Never had anything caused 
such a sensation. Had Mary eloped with some gay Lo- 
thario, or had she left Charles and sued for a divorce, 
dragging the disgusting details through the courts, with 
the exposure of compromising letters and questionable sit- 
uations, supplying the newspapers with columns of sensa- 
tional matter which would not fail to show that her 
father, Charles, and Gertrude were only secondary mat- 
ters and as nothing to her in her selfish pursuits, all 
this and much more probably would have been condoned 
by the majority, with only a few ripples on the surface 
of society. But to open a sanatorium and supervise it 
herself, and to ally herself to a movement of this sort — 
in short, to become odd, was too much. There was but 
one conclusion to be drawn in the general mind: She had 
gone stark, staring, raving mad. There was much com- 
ment from every one, but principally from effete men 


Bethesda Sanatorium. 269 

without self-respect and from women of the ‘^smart set/' 
who afiected the graces and conduct of ladies without 
being ladies; who had little breeding, and whose only in- 
fluence in the charmed circle was measured by the weight 
of their gold. But this class of people, while belong- 
ing to it, did not comprise the whole of the smart set. 
Mary had certainly overstepped the limits heretofore pre- 
scribed by the circle in which she had always lived and 
moved. She was a woman of wealth, good birth, and 
highly accomplished. She was intellectual, young, beau- 
tiful, and was fast becoming an acknowledged leader. She 
was sure of her position. Such women are able to do many 
surprising things. 

So, the men and women talked and talked. The sun 
rose on one horizon and set upon the other, and still 
they talked, wondered and conjectured. It now remained 
to be seen what construction society would put upon this 
departure from prescribed rules; whether it would drop 
her, or would she drop society, or whether either event 
would happen. 

The home that was now to be Mary’s was admittedly one 
of the most attractive at the Springs. It was beauti- 
fully located, and belonged to a wealthy New Yorker. 
It had been a farm for raising and training fine stock. 
About a quarter of a mile from the house, was what had 
once been a speedway. Near this were two immense barns 
two stories high ; and leading off to the left of these, were 
about thirty or forty small stables. 

Before the snow was fairly off the ground, the previous 
spring, an army of painters, carpenters, and gardeners 
had appeared, and under the guidance of a still-mouthed 
contractor, the place had been completely transformed. 
The stables had been turned into well furnished cottages. 


270 Mary Starkweather. 

One of the barns was made into a sitting-room, library, 
billiard- and smoking-rooms, all well and substantially 
furnished. There were also a large dining-room and 
kitchen. The other barn had been turned into dormi- 
tories, above and below, which were furnished with white 
enamelled beds standing in rows, and looking so snowy 
and cool that they were tempting enough to induce sleep 
to the most wakeful. 

A long wooden building had been erected for a bowling- 
alley, gymnasium, baths, etc. The center of the speed- 
way was turned into golf links and tennis courts. There 
were many shade trees that had been well trimmed. An 
abundance of shrubbery had been set out, and now, the 
grass, which was well mowed and cared for, was thick and 
velvety. Over the high gateway was the name : ^^Cottage 
Place.” It was certainly very attractive and looked like 
a little village. The balance of the land belonging to 
the farm, was in the hands of a capable tenant, and was 
in a high state of cultivation. 

The residence belonging to the estate was very large, 
the former owner being a man fond of entertaining. It 
was very modern. There was nothing wanting to insure 
every comfort: a large sun parlor; a spacious drawing- 
room; library, music- and billiard-rooms; an extensive, 
handsomely decorated dining-room; a conservatory well 
filled with rare plants and tropical blooms ; a broad piazza 
giving a long promenade. The whole house, above and 
below, was light and airy. It had been well and taste- 
fully refurnished throughout. There had been no archi- 
tural change made in the house, except the addition of 
one very large room. This we wish to describe: 

The house was built like two enormous wings spring- 
ing from the conservatory that joined them in the center. 
The room that had been added to the house was oval in 


Bethesda Sanatorium. 


271 


shape. One end swelled out from side to side, and formed 
a large stained glass window; the other end of the room 
projected into the conservatory. There were three arch- 
ways at this end, the central one jutting back in the form 
of a crescent recess; this recess was closed in with glass. 
From the floor up to the height of four feet the glass 
was shaded brown and olive; above that to the height of 
three feet it was shaded a heavenly blue; and inwrought 
into this, in the richest and warmest crimson was the 
word, ^^Love,” that glimmered and glowed like living fire. 
Above this, the glass that closed in and formed the canopy, 
was a rich lemon color through which the light from above 
fell like a golden halo. The fioor of this recess was a 
dais, raised about six inches. The walls of the room 
were done in warm rose-color. The fioor was inlaid and 
highly polished. The doorways were arched, and on one 
side, led into the library ; on the other, pnto the great draw- 
ing-room. The fluted pillars that supported the arches, 
and the heavy cornices of doors and windows were enam- 
elled in pure white with flllets of gold. Over all the arch- 
ways, doors, and windows, was a raised filigree work of 
leaves and flowers and gold. Into these were cunningly 
and artistically inwrought tiny gold-colored incandescent 
lights, forming a word or sentence over each door and 
window. When lighted, these burned and scintillated 
brilliantly. The word in the arch over the dais was 
i ^^Truth.’’ The right archway had ^^Hope” ; the left 
‘^Taith.” Over the door to the library was the word 
‘Tlealth,” while that over the door to the drawing-room 
was ^^Happiness.” Over the great arched window was 
the sentence: ‘Tf ye have faith, nothing shall be im- 
possible to you.” Above the cornice was a row of con- 
cealed incandescent lights for illuminating purposes. 

The floor was strewn with soft and rich-toned rugs; 


272 Mary Starkweather. 

luxurious chairs, inlaid tables, and divans were scattered 
about. Hanging-baskets with trailing vines, flowers, and 
ferns, were suspended from the archways that led to the 
conservatories. On the dais were a small divan and a 
table. On this was a jardiniere of antique design fllled 
with rare roses. A few handsome paintings in gold 
frames adorned the walls. Silken portieres of rose-color, 
embroidered and fringed in gold, draped the archways 
and doors. The whole of this beautiful room was closed 
in by a lofty dome-shaped ceiling of stained glass, that 
represented Christ sitting in the midst of his disciples, 
with a little child at His feet, warning them in the follow- 
ing language: 

^^Yerily I say unto you. Except ye be converted, and 
become as little children, ye shall not enter into the king- 
dom of heaven. 

^^Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little 
child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 

^^And who so shall receive one such little child in my 
name receiveth me. 

‘^But who so shall offend one of these little ones which 
believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were 
hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the 
depth of the sea.” 

The stained glass in the window, represented Christ 
speaking to His disciples and pointing to a mountain, after 
he had cured the lunatic, according to the account given 
by St. Matthew: 

“And when they were come to the multitude, there came 
to Him a certain man, kneeling down to Him and say- 
ing, 

“Lord, have mercy on my Son: for he is a lunatic, 
and sore vexed: for ofttimes he falleth into the fire, and 
oft into the water. 


Bethesda Sanatorium. 273 

^‘And I brought him to thy disciples, and they could 
not cure him. 

‘‘Then Jesus answered him and said, Oh, faithless and 
perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? how 
long shall I suffer you? bring him hither to me. 

“And Jesus rebuked the devil; and he departed out of 
him: and the child was cured from that very hour. 

“Then came the disciples to Jesus apart, and said, 
Why could not we cast him out? 

“And Jesus said unto them. Because of your unbelief; 
for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of 
mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Kemove 
hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing 
shall be impossible unto you.’^ 

At the moment our chapter opens, this room is vacant. 
The tone and coloring are perfect, and the room is so cool 
with its “dim, religious light,^’ so restful to the eye 
and brain. The very chairs and divans, with their downy 
pillows, seem to be inviting repose and meditation. You 
hear, as in a dream, the birds softly singing in the con- 
servatory and the musical plashing of the water in the 
fountains. The sweet scent of flowers is in the air. The 
world, with its cares and follies, its bickerings and heart- 
burning jealousies, seems so far away. 

This is the Temple of Bethesda. 

In the library, a flne pipe-organ has been built. 

On the stone, over the high-arched front doorway, the 
name of the place has been carved: Bethesda. Across the 
arch, in letters of gold, and in plain text, are the words : 
Divine Healing. Aside from this doorway, the house has 
the appearance of any other well-regulated country man- 
sion. 


Mary Starkweather. 


274 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

SOCIETY IS SHOCKED. 

Ok the lawn in front of Willowby Best, lounged several 
gentlemen, smoking. It needed but a glance to tell one 
that they were all men of the world. Experience was 
more or less written on each face. 

The youngest of the group was Bennie Gordon. He was 
as pretty as a girl, with a fresh English complexion. He 
had been educated abroad, and had acquired the English 
drawl and accent. He had a good figure, but he was 
small and decidedly dapper. He was really a queer little 
chap; but the best of his kind. His father was one of 
the merchant-princes of New York. Bennie’s mother 
died when he was only a child, and his father idolized 
him. Besides being prospective heir to his father’s money, 
be had inherited a large fortune from his maternal grand- 
father. So, Bennie had no need to worry about rainy 
days. 

Another of the group was Donald Barry. He was half 
English and half American. His father, the eldest son 
of an English lord, and heir to both title and fortune, 
while traveling in America, met and married the belle 
of Houston, Texas; for which, as she was not a great 
heiress, he was immediately disinherited. With the as- 


Society is Shocked. 275 

sistance of his wife’s relatives he went into business and 
managed to get along fairly well. When Donald was 
twenty years old, his father died, leaving his mother with 
two children: himself and his sister Annie, who was, at 
that time, fifteen years old. 

When Donald’s grandfather heard of the death of hi^. 
son he sent for Donald to come to England, stating tha 
if he was the right sort of a fellow, he should have his 
father’s name and title. The amount of money Donald’s 
father had been able to leave was not great, and his mother, 
feeling it was for her son’s good, urged him to go to 
England. 

Donald was a splendid fellow, but reckless and wild. 
He had ridden with the Texas Dangers, slept on the Texas 
plains, hunted Indians, and could lariat a horse or brand 
a cow. 

His hair was a tawny yellow, his eyes brown; and as a 
boy, he was as freckled as a turkey’s egg, and a few freckles 
still lingered on his face. 

Donald went to England as heir presumptive to his 
grandfather’s title and fortune. The restraint was fear- 
ful to this untamed boy who had known the wild freedom 
of Texas frontier life. At times, he would break all 
bounds and dressed in a cow-boy suit, would mount a 
horse and startle the neighbors with Indian war-whoops 
and cow-boy yells, as he rode like mad through the village. 
He remained two years in England, and during that time 
his grandfather became deeply attached to this wild, 
harum-scarum boy. His reckless, dare-devil capers only 
seemed to endear him the more. 

But Donald grew more and more homesick, and finally 
threw up all claims to title and fortune, declaring to his 
grandfather that he would rather live and die as a ^^yaller 
dog” in America, than to be heir presumptive to the 


276 Mary Starkweather. 

throne of England. He announced his intention of re- 
turning to America at once, and taking up the care of 
his mother and sister as best he could. 

This was a great shock to his grandfather, and after 
much discussion, a compromise was suggested. It was 
that Donald should bring his mother and sister to New 
York to live, and that he would spend not less than three 
months out of every year in England; the grandfather 
hoping, thereby, to gradually win him to remain for good. 
He was supplied with a princely income, and had now 
been living in New York for two years. He had just 
returned from his annual visit abroad. He was much 
sought after on account of his title and money. He was 
really a splendid fellow, with a world of good, hard, prac- 
tical sense, and without a particle of arrogance or assump- 
tion. He was a general favorite, especially with the men. 
Not one but was fond of Donald. He seemed to carry 
with him a bit of that pure, fresh western breeze in which 
he was raised. Though full of fire and hot-tempered, he 
was generous, frank, and hospitable. He was devoted 
to his mother and his sister, who was now a young lady. 
His mother was still a beautiful and brilliant woman. 

Donald, Bennie, and Dick Braintree, were sworn allies. 
Dick and Bennie were own cousins, and Bennie was 
Dick’s shadow. They were together now, as usual. 

Eichard Braintree was much older than Bennie or 
Donald. He was past thirty-five. He had been a society 
idol since he was twenty, and of late years the round of 
gayeties had become fatiguing and unpleasant. He had 
arrived at that stage of his life when nothing interested 
him very much, and he was constantly bored. 

'^Yhat’s a fellow to do? You can’t get away from it, 
you know,” said Dick, as he yawned and continued to 
allow himself to be bored. He was about five feet, eight 


277 


Society is Shocked. 

inches tall, broad shouldered and well bnilt, and generally 
considered handsome. Had it not been for the apathy 
of the man he might really have been so ; but he reminded 
one of the expressed essence of chloroform. It did not 
seem as if an earthquake could startle Dick. When he 
was a boy in school he had been a fiery chap ; but of late 
he seemed to have lost it all. His mornings were spent 
in bed, his afternoons in the Park, his evenings at some 
fashionable gathering where he was sure to be the ob- 
served of all observers. His father had spent his life in 
accumulating one of the largest fortunes in America, and 
now, broken in health, and without the power to enjoy 
his money, he, with his wife and youngest son, was travel- 
ing abroad. There had been two sons and a daughter. 
The daughter had married a Eussian nobleman, who had 
broken her heart. Dicks father had already divided his 
fortune between his two sons, the daughter’s portion also 
coming to them, as she had died childless. Dick was the 
richest young man in New York, and he was much courted 
in consequence. More than one woman had studied and 
planned how to bring him to her feet. When rallied about 
getting married, Dick always declared he was waiting to 
find a girl with a soul — although just what Dick meant by 
that no one exactly knew as he seemed to have so little 
himself. Nevertheless, with all his apathy, he was tre- 
mendously pcjpular. In society he was a sort of social 
Caesar; but in his club it is no exaggeration to say that 
he was an idol. He spent his money like a prince. He 
was master of his father’s house on Fifth Avenue, and he 
was a law unto himself. He had always been independ- 
ent; but every one thought it was the independence that 
comes from the possession of gold. They had yet to 
learn of what material the man was made. His inde- 
pendence and his gold gave him great prestige. His 


278 Mary Starkweather. 

opinions were highly regarded, and in many ways he was 
the censor of his club. 

Dick had always known the Starkweathers. He had 
been one of young Hugh’s best friends; while his sister 
and Mary had been intimate friends. Dick had always 
possessed the warmest regard for Mary. He, Bennie and 
Donald, with a lot of other fellows, had come dcwn to the 
Springs to kill a few weeks’ time before the opening of 
the Newport season, and, as Donald put it, to drink a few 
barrelfuls of water. 

Donald was regaling the group with some freshly im- ^ 
ported stories, that must have been highly amusing, judg- 
ing from the roars of laughter that greeted a number * 
of ladies, who now descended from the house, followed by 
an army of servants with rugs, chairs, sunshades, fans, etc. 
The gentlemen at once arose, and soon there was a merry, 
laughing party that was continually being reinforced or 
diminished by the coming of some and the going of 
others. There was a good deal of wit and slso gay re- 
partee; there was much adjusting of silken skirts and 
languorous glances, shot from beautiful eyes, before every 
one was comfortably settled and ready for a bit of gossip. 
They were a polished set, and yet, with but few exceptions, 
they were gossips, none the less; and had a fondness for 
minding other people’s business. 

There was a little casual chatter, and then the con- 
versation naturally turned upon the events of the day 
previous. There was very little logic. The conversation 
was rather desultory, as it was frequently interrupted by 
persons coming and going, who entered into the conversa- 
tion for a few moments, and then dropped out of it. 
There were young and old; and all felt free to express 
opinions. The transactions of the day previous was the 
theme of conversation. 


Society is Shocked. 279 

^^Isn’t it queer?’’ said one. 

''It’s nonsense,” said another. 

"I wonder if Mrs. Thornton can cure everything;” and 
in a moment they all seemed to be talking at once. 

"Ah !” said Dick, "only the other day you were wish- 
ing the old hackneyed wish for something new. Now 
you have it with a vengeance, and yet you are not satis- 
fied.” 

"Well, it’s the most preposterous stuff to say Mrs. 
Thornton did it. Why, we have all heard of sudden 
shocks or frights having the same effect. Even the colonel 
knows it was the fright that caused it,” said Mrs. 
Brownell. 

"Yes, it seems not only curious, but idiotic when ex- 
amined in the light of common sense. There really must 
be something the matter with Mrs. Thornton’s mental 
furniture, if she can take the credit of making these 
cures,” said Mr. Sidley. 

Mr. Sidley was a great society man, and considered 
himself irresistible. He spent his time studying chiefly 
how to make himself agreeable. He was past forty, a 
bachelor, and thoroughly blase. He had been in the social 
swim all his life. He flattered himself he could make an 
impression on any woman he chose, married or single. 
With Mrs. Thornton he had signally failed, and he was 
a little piqued in consequence. 

"Oh, don’t worry about her brainery,” said Donald. 
"You will find there is nothing the matter with that.” 

"No, by Jove!” chimed in Bennie; "and if shocks have 
such a wonderful effect in performing cures, I cawn’t see 
why the doctors don’t have a lot of ready-made shocks to 
turn on on short notice. It would be great, you know, 
and save a lot of trouble.’^ 


28 o Mary Starkweather. 

a deuced queer thing for her to be mixed up in/’ 
said Sidley. 

^^Well, she has killed herself socially/’ said Mrs. 
Brownell, spitefully. 

“I am sorry/’ said Mrs. Delacey, adjusting her lace 
skirts, and shading her face beneath her rose-colored 
parasol. look upon this fad of Mrs. Thornton as a 
real calamity. She was so popular as a young girl, and 
since her marriage she has grown more and more so. She 
could and would have become unquestionably one of the 
strongest leaders in society. She has all the qualifica- 
tions — ^beauty, intellect, money and birth.” 

‘^Oh, no one will be so rash as to dispute her claims to 
high social rank among the leaders in the land,” said 
Mrs. Brownell; ^^but who wants to take her cue socially 
from the keeper of. a sanatorium?” 

^^She is without question a genuine original — no imi- 
tation; but her originality is so concealed. She accen- 
tuates herself, but so gently is it done, so unostentatiously, 
that it is hardly apparent. You have to think about it 
some time before you are really aware of it.” 

This was said by another blase society man — Norwood 
Brinsley, who had gone all the gaits of a bachelor of 
nearly fifty. He was an habitue of all high, social func- 
tions. He apparently never had been interested in any- 
thing more serious than the latest importations from his 
London tailor, or in the newest dance, a fast horse, or 
a handsome woman; and usually, the gayer and more 
frivolous the woman, the deeper was his interest. There- 
fore, it was with some surprise that those present listened 
to his remarks. 

^^One would think you admired that style of woman,” 
said Mrs. Wilson, with a satirical laugh, as she mentally 
recalled her own flirtations with this man of many liaisons. 


Society is Shocked. 281 

"I do immensely,” he replied. the fashionable 

world I consider she has no peer.” 

Mrs. Wilson bit her lip with annoyance; then said 
with scorn: 

“Well, to tell the truth, I think there is a lot of pretence 
about it all. She talks about the Bible and religion, yet 
she hasn’t a bit of the soul-saving way with her. She 
dresses and dances and chatters as much as any one.” 

“Ah ! you have hit it exactly. I have just said she is 
an original. I see you agree with me,” said Brinsley, with 
a twinkle in his eye. “She can talk more sensible non- 
sense, with flashing eyes and sparkling wit, than any 
woman I ever saw. And, as to religion, if that is what 
makes her so attractive, I wonder others don’t cultivate 
it.” 

“Do hear that man talk,” laughed Mrs. Delacey, coquet- 
tishly shaking her parasol at him. “One would think 
you were smitten, sure enough. I think I’ll warn Charles 
when I see him.” 

“Oh, don’t go to romancing! Can’t a fellow admire 
a clever woman without that? I admire her because she 
is no hypocrite, no namby-pamby. She has a lot of good 
red blood in her veins. Gad ! Why, I’d go miles just to 
sit and look at her,” said Brinsley, enthusiastically. 

“I have known her ever since she came out,” said Mr. 
Sidley, “and I always have thought her cold and distant. 
I think her unromantic and lacking in true, womanly 
feeling.” 

“So she is to some people,” retorted Dick Braintree, 
significantly. He said it in a tone that made Sidley 
feel as if some one had dropped ice down his back. 

“Even the sun is interested and inquisitive in regard 
to our gossip. You see, he is trying to peer down through 


282 


Mary Starkweather. 

the branches/’ said Donald, quizzically, noticing Mrs. 
Delacey trying to shade her face more effectually. 

think the wind has stopped to listen to the gossip, 
too, as it has forgotten to blow,” said Bennie, as he fanned 
his face with his hat. ''What a lot Mrs. Thornton will 
have to answer for.” 

"Well,” said Donald, with a slight note of impatience 
in his voice, "there is one thing about all this that I 
can’t quite comprehend. It is this: We all have seen the 
child, and know what a sufferer she was ; and we all know 
how helpless the colonel was. Now, one would naturally 
suppose that anything that could possibly relieve either of 
them would be hailed with delight, no matter who did it 
or by what means it was done. Some say it’s all imagina- 
tion. Well, suppose it is. What difference does it make? 
The unreasoning prejudices of the people have allowed 
them to attack Mrs. Thornton as if they were ravening 
wolves; and as if she had introduced some dread dis- 
ease instead of conferring a blessing. I’ll be hanged if 
I understand it. I believe you will all be glad to see 
the colonel and little Ruth get sick again, just to have 
the opportunity of saying, 'I told you so.’ ” 

"Oh, no, we wouldn’t, Donald, my boy !” said Mr. Sid- 
ley, with a covert sneer. "We don’t want Mrs. Thorn- 
ton to miss the opportunity of securing that little badge 
which she evidently expects to get, up in Paradise. You 
know they keep them up there for people like her, with 
queer ideas.” 

"How exceedingly brilliant, Mr. Sidley!” said Edith, 
sarcastically. "Can you not secure your appointment as 
arbiter of wit ? It’s a pity for you to hide your talents.” 

^^hatever have I done to you that you should be so 
cruel?” said Sidley, in a plaintive voice. But Edith did 
not deign to reply. 


Society is Shocked. 283 

^^Well, she is far ahead of any of us. She has come 
here to work. We have come here and are lolling under 
the shade of the trees. We eat and drink and read and 
sleep and talk, and loll some more. Sometimes, if not too 
hot, we dance and ride and walk. She is devoting her 
time to doing other and more useful things; and as for 
health, look at her — look at her child. Look at Judge 
Thornton. They are pictures. The very atmosphere she 
sheds comes upon one like a sort of magical perfume. 
Her talk runs on like the murmur of a brook. She is not 
only beautiful and rich, but she is a philanthropist.” 

All this from lazy, indolent Dick Braintree! Again 
there was a gasp from the ladies. ^^What is the matter 
with the men?” thought Mrs. Wilson, as Dick and Donald 
now left them to speak to a man that had just come from 
the house. Dick did not know nor care a fig about the 
matter, but he was Mary’s friend and he admired her; 
and somehow she never bored him. He was quite sure she 
never preached to him. She was one of the few women 
whose conversation he always remembered and dwelt on 
afterward. 

think Mr. Braintree is quite right. When one re- 
members what Mrs. Thornton has undertaken, it seems 
quite wonderful,” said Miss Stevens, thoughtfully. 

‘^Oh, I suppose we will have a sight of the slum-dwell- 
ers, down at those cottages,” said Mrs. Wilson. ^Tt makes 
me sick. I shan’t be astonished at anything after this. 
It wouldn’t surprise me, now, to have Mr. Carnegie or 
Mr. Eockefeller, or some one else, pick up the slums of 
New York and set them down bodily in the heart of New- 
port.” 

Everybody laughed at Mrs. Wilson’s plaintive voice. 

^^Oh, don’t worry about the slum-dwellers at the cot- 
tages!” said Miss Stevens. ^The cottages are beautiful 


284 Mary Starkweather 

— so well furnished and so comfortable, and they are to be 
occupied by ladies and gentlemen/^ 

^Tadies and gentlemen !” exclaimed half a dozen voices 
in a breath. “What do you mean?’^ 

“1 mean just what I say. They are ladies and gen- 
tlemen. Their only misfortune is being poor.” 

“Oh, I see !” coldly and sarcasticaly exclaimed Sidley. 
“Slum-dwellers are to be called ladies and gentlemen 
hereafter. Mark that. 

spite of Juliet and her rose, 

There*s a good deal in a name, God "knows.*** 

“You are mistaken, Mr. Sidley,” replied Miss Stevens, 
with a slight curve of her lip. “They are people who are, 
in the truest sense, ladies and gentlemen of refined tastes 
and aspirations; people who are struggling, almost starv- 
ing, in order to make something of themselves — ^musicians, 
artists, actors, students of various kinds, clerks, and book- 
keepers. There is one whole family there — man, wife and 
three children. The father, at one time, was quite an influ- 
ential Walk Street man. He lost his money and at about 
the same time he became an invalid through a stroke of 
paralysis; and for three years he has been wholly de- 
pendent on his eldest daughter for the support of him- 
self, wife, and two young children. They are all re- 
fined. The daughter is well educated and gets a good 
salary; but all she can earn is only enough to pay rent 
and eke out a meagre existence for a family of five. The 
girl was rapidly failing from the awful strain, and but 
for Mrs. Thornton, they would have been obliged to re- 
main in the city through the hot weather. She made 
some sort of arrangement with the firm the young lady 
is working for, to give the girl a rest for three months; 


Society is Shocked. 285 

and she has brought the whole family here, and they have 
a little cottage all to themselves. There are two art 
students, clever, talented, bright, handsome fellows that 
have been struggling along in their profession on the 
barest pittance, literally starving. They have refined tastes 
and have been well brought up. There are a number more 
just like them. There is a large work-room fitted up for 
their use. There are several pianos for the use of the 
students of music. They are, one and all, very, very poor ; 
but all are workers. Those I have mentioned, are, as I 
understand it, merely samples of the others. There are 
people there that are too proud to beg. They would die 
•first. There is a fund for the really poor slum-dwell- 
ers; but for this class of people, who are in truth greater 
sufferers, there seems to be nothing. How she manages 
to find them out is a mystery to me.” 

^^No doubt she would have been as willing to initiate 
you into one mystery as another. When she was telling 
you all about them, why didn’t you ask for information 
on that point, also?” asked Mrs. Brownell. 

'‘She has told me nothing about it,” replied Miss 
Stevens, with slight irritation; "but in order that you 
may know where I obtained my information I shall tell 
you all. This morning, Edith and I went for a long 
walk, and while out, we met a young girl that I know 
very well. She attended the same school with me a num- 
ber of years ago. Her parents were then in comfortable 
circumstances ; but reverses came, and she has had to earn 
her own living. She was so changed I hardly knew 
her. She is now a protegee of Mrs. Thornton, and is 
staying at Cottage Place. She has a glorious voice, but 
has never had any one to push her forward, and did not 
know how to do it herself. She was very nearly dis- 
couraged, and about to give up in despair, when she was 


286 Mary Starkweather. 

fortunate enough to meet Mrs. Thornton. It is from 
her I learned all I know about the people down at Cot- 
tage Place.” 

‘^Oh, I say, I propose we all go down and inspect this 
Paradise,” said Mrs. Wilson. ‘Tt is yet early, and we 
should have plenty of time. I hear the cottages are al- 
ready filled.” 

second the motion,” exclaimed Horace Burt, spring- 
ing to his feet. He had listened keenly to the conversa- 
tion, but had kept silent. He was something of a social 
parasite. On account of his family being an old one, 
he had the entree to the inner circles. He had squan- 
dered most of his money, and had now become a dollar- , 
hunter, and eked out his limited income by giving choice 
bits of news to papers that were willing to pay hand- 
somely for glimpses into corners where their reporters 
could not enter. This and an occasional lucky stroke at 
the gaming-table, or a tip given at the races, were his 
only financial resources. He catered to those that had 
money as it was a thing he most needed. He had always 
dangled after Donald, Bennie and Dick. Lately, he had 
been seen a good deal with Sidney Banks. 

‘^Come !” he cried, “how many will go ? I will order 
the carriages.” 

“Let me save you the trouble, Mr. Burt,” interrupted 
Edith. “You would not be admitted if you went.” 

“Why not?” asked Burt in surprise. 

“For the reason that the occupants of the cottages are 
Just what Isabel has told you. They are ladies and gen- 
tlemen, and are not there for inspection any more than 
you and your apartment here at the hotel.” 

“But they are objects of charity,” asserted he. “There 
is a great difference, I think.” 

“They are not made to feel that they are objects of 


Society is Shocked. 287 

charity. They have been invited as guests of Judge and 
Mrs. Thornton, who would not subject them to the in- 
dignity,” retorted Edith, with a little glad ring in her 
voice. 

Mrs. Wilson gave a little sniff in the air; but she did 
not care to antagonize Edith. 

Miss Stevens laughed as she said: have been sitting 

here listening to all of you talking about how Mrs. Thorn- 
ton has imperilled her social position through her philan- 
thropic work and the erection of those cottages.” 

^^Well, I think all of us have always admired Mrs. 
Thornton,” came the voice of Mrs. Delacey; ^^and no one 
would object to her giving whatever she sees fit. That 
is her own business; but to deliberately associate herself 
with a thing of this sort and to give it her personal super- 
vision, is quite another matter. However, it is a ques- 
tion of taste. If she prefers it, all right; but, of course, 
it ostracises her from society as to claims to anything more 
than mere recognition.” 

^^Yes,” said Mrs. Wilson, with an appealing expression, 
‘^and to think that for the past two years her gowns have 
been the talk of our set — so exquisite in taste, you know. 
We all supposed the Thorntons would open their new 
town-house this winter. I suppose, now, they will turn 
it into a hospital.” 

‘The winter she was abroad we all missed her very 
much,” asserted Mrs. de Lorme, “and we can ill spare 
her now.” 

The truth of the matter was that Mary always attended 
so entirely to her own affairs and paid so little attention 
to other people^s, that she, was not an object of jealousy. 
When a man went mad about her, and raved over her 
beauty and accomplishments, beyond a slight pang at the 
“raver,” it had no more effect than if they had raved 


288 Mary Starkweather. 

about a rare painting or article of virtu. Had Mary been 
a married flirt, they could have spared her more easily. 

^^Then it is only now that you object to her — since 
she has taken possession of Bethesda?” asked Miss 
Stevens. 

^^Oh, certainly! Until now, there has been no occa- 
sion for any complaints against her — only admiration,’^ 
answered Mrs. Delacey. 

^^And yet,” said Miss Stevens, in a triumphant voice, 
and with laughing, twinkling eyes, ^^for nearly ten years 
she has been in this new line of thought; and for the 
past flve years she has been carrying on a philanthropic 
scheme most successfully, by the side of which this project 
of Bethesda is a mere baby. Yet you have all sought 
her during that time, admired her gowns, and have been 
willing to take any social cue she gave.” 

^^^hat do you mean?” asked Mrs. Wilson. 

‘‘Oh, that is another story,” replied Miss Stevens, mys- 
teriously. “I will leave you to And it out. To my per- 
sonal knowledge she does not now, nor ever has aspired 
to be a social leader. However, I have, with several 
others, an appointment to lunch with her to-day, and I 
also have a message to deliver to all those who desire 
to know anything about her metaphysical studies. She 
requests me to say that to-morrow morning, at eleven 
o’clock, there will be a service in the little temple in her 
house, and that you and any friends you may desire to 
bring with you will be welcome.” 

Miss Stevens was distinguished for her clear think- 
ing. An idea seemed to strike Mrs. Delacey and she 
asked : 

“Do you believe in this new philosophy. Miss Stevens ?” 

“I have studied it much. I have not mastered it as 


Society is Shocked. 289 

yet. I believe in it firmly; but I am not able to dem- 
onstrate all that I believe to be facts.” 

Edith almost gasped at this declaration from Miss 
Stevens. 

^^But I am told you can^t get Mrs. Thornton to talk 
on the subject,” said Sidley, with a shrug of his shoulders 
and an expression of incredulity. 

^^That is a mistake, I am sure,” replied Miss Stevens, 
think it is true, though, that she never argues.” 

‘‘That is because she has laid down something that she 
canT handle herself,” said Horace; “and yet she expects 
to make disciples. But when you see the clever people who 
take up with this idea” — with an admiring glance at 
Miss Stevens- — “it makes one believe in the power of 
asserting a thing; then sitting down and sticking to it 
with closed lips.” 

“There are some people,” replied Miss Stevens, “who 
ignore or imperfectly appreciate the fallacy of discus- 
sion. They cannot understand the inspiring motives that 
cause Mrs. Thornton to shun all kinds of contention. 
She knows and understands the immense power of the 
mind; that it is an exhaustless fountain, rolling forever 
onward with ever increasing impetus; and that it will 
quicken and fertilize other minds more effectually than 
all the arguments she could present.” 

“Well, the arguments you bring to bear are quite 
unique,” said Horace, laughing. “Miss Stevens is try- 
ing to prove that silence is golden.” 

“I think I agree with Miss Stevens,” chimed in Nor- 
wood Brinsley. “There is something about Mrs. Thorn- 
ton that, makes her manner more persuasive and power- 
ful than spoken language. It is in her hand-clasp; in 
the interest she shows in you; and it gleams from her 
eyes. If there is anything I despise, it’s a man or woman 


290 Mary Starkweather. 

that is always ready to lecture or argue — that has a hobby 
and is ever galloping with it, whether or no, over peo- 
ple’s heads. As I said before, she is an original, and as 
such I make my most profound bow to her. Please con- 
vey my compliments to Mrs. Thornton and say that I 
shall certainly accept her kind invitation for to-morrow.” • 

He finished his remark standing, as Mrs. Brandt had 
just driven up, and Edith and Miss Stevens had risen to 
respond to the calls of Dick and Donald, who were wait- 
ing for them. They took their leave at once, followed by 
Bennie. 

* 

Mrs. Brandt stopped to exchange a few words with the ' 
little group on the lawn before entering the house; and ' 
when some one asked her if she intended going to Mrs. ^ 
Thornton’s service the next morning, and if she would ] 
have Mrs. Thornton attempt to heal Pansy, she replied: ^ 
shall go, I presume, but I shall not be wheedled into I 
any nonsense. Pansy’s troubles are not imaginary; they \ 
are hard facts. It would take more than the metaphysical 1 
science of Mrs. Thornton or the shock caused by seeing ■ 
some one faint to cure her. As I was returning, a little 
while ago, I picked up Dr. Malridge, and set him down ‘ 
at Judge Thornton’s. He is very much upset over the 
stand Mrs. Thornton is taking in these matters. He 
thinks she is adrift religiously and I am inclined to think 
so myself. Mary Thornton has always been a pet of 
mine. No one can know her and not love her. Every 
year she has grown more popular and more indispensa- 
ble to her friends; and it is the impression of those that 
know about these things, that Judge Thornton will be 
elected to Congress. They are both deservedly popular; 
but I greatly fear the stand she is taking is going to be 
disastrous in more wavs than one. I am afraid it will 
hurt her husband politically. She is the last person I 


Society is Shocked. 291 

would have expected to take up with this kind of fad. 
From an intellectual standpoint, I have always looked 
upon her as a model. It never occurred to me that she 
could possibly lose her balance in this way. I am sorry 
I cannot remain longer with you, you all look so cool and 
comfortable; but I think I must go to look after Pansy.” 

Mrs. Brandt had spoken sincerely and with deep con- 
cern. She was really very much distressed over Mary’s 
departure from the conventional standard. 

Mrs. Brandt was a very handsome woman. The years 
and cares of maternity sat lightly upon her. Her hus- 
band was one of the wealthiest railroad kings in America. 
She had known no real sorrow except Pans3r’s affliction. 

When Mrs. Brandt had mentioned Charles’ political 
prospects there was a gleam in the eye of Horace Burt; 
and, as she left them, he took out his notebook and made 
a memorandum. 

am very curious,” said Mrs. Wilson, meditatively, 
^To know what Miss Stevens meant by Mrs. Thornton’s 
other philanthropic work.” 

^^Oh, nothing, I fancy,” said Mrs. Brownell; 'T think 
she' wanted to excite our curiosity. No one could do a 
large work of that kind for five years without somebody 
finding it out. But tell me, are you going to Mrs. Thorn- 
ton’s to-morrow ?” 

Mrs. Wilson had taken her cue from Mrs. Brandt. 
If Mrs. Brandt could go, why she would go. She was one 
of the kind that always followed others. And Mrs. 
Brandt was unquestionably to be followed. So, she re- 
plied, enthusiastically : 

^^Of course I’m going. I wouldn’t miss it for any- 
thing. I’m consumed with curiosity. J ust think of Mary 
Thornton lecturing or preaching!” This brought a gen- 
eral laugh. 


292 Mary Starkweather. 

‘^Wouldn’t she be a corker as a Salvation Army lassie?’’ 
said Horace Burt. And again they all laughed. 

^^No,” said Norwood Brinsley, ^^she would be out of her 
element. I could never think of her as tramping around 
in the muddy streets, beating a tambourine. No doubt, 
there is plenty of that kind of work to be done, and there 
are many good and handsome women that are doing it; 
but it’s not her line any more than it would be the line 
of work for the Virgin Mother to come down and do. 
The Virgin’s mission was to give to the world a high 
and holy Son, and make the world good through Him. 
Mrs. Thornton has found her work and her mission will 
be to make thoughtful, good men and women in the 
world in which she moves. I heard Clara Potter say of 
her, last night, that she would like to be as beautiful, 
mentally and spiritually, as Mrs. Thornton is. And 
Fanny Carruthers declared the same thing, and spoke of 
the wonderful fascination about her. I think this shows 
Mrs. Thornton’s influence for good, and that the leaven 
is working. As for myself, I have known her for years. 
I never am in her society ten minutes without wishing 
I was a better man. And from this time forward, I am 
her’s to command,” said Brinsley, rising. ^^And I am 
not going to remain to hear you make sarcastic and light 
remarks about one of the most superb women of the day.” 
Saying which, he lifted his hat, laughing lightly, bowed, 
and took his leave. 

A good sized bomb thrown in their midst could not 
have astonished them more ; and there was silence for an 
instant. Then, a dear, white-haired woman, with heavenly 
eyes, said, as her glance followed his disappearing figure: 

"And I have heard it said that that man had neither 
brains nor heart.” 

"What has gotten into the men, any way!” exclaimed 


Society is Shocked. 293 

Mrs. Wilson, frowning. think Mr. Brinsley was ab- 
solutely impertinent.^" 

he thinks he is at liberty to say what he likes. 
He is under a spell. Take my word for it, it won"t last. 
He is a Catholic; she is a Protestant. They could never 
agree,"" asserted Horace Burt. 

don"t suppose she is anything, now. She was an 
Episcopalian. I suppose she has left the Church,"" re- 
plied Mrs. Brownell. 

think not,"" said Mrs. Winthrop, who had hitherto 
kept silence. “Last evening, young Mrs. Elliot met Mrs. 
Thornton on the piazza. It seems Mrs. Elliot knows some- 
thing about this science, and she approached Mrs. Thorn- 
ton on the subject, and finally said to her that she would 
not give up her good old church and take to reading 
strange books for anything. And Mrs. Thornton"s re- 
ply was : ^My dear, why should you take to reading strange 
books, and leave your church? If you want my advice 
I would say, stick to your church, read carefully and 
understandingly your Bible — ^put more literal and less 
figurative meaning into the teachings of your clergymen 
and Bible. You will then find you have all you need." 
Now, that doesn"t look to me as if she were pulling down 
religion. Mrs. Elliot said that, for a moment, she felt 
like resenting it. Then there came to her the sermon 
we all heard last Sunday — I mean those who went to 
church,"" said Mrs. Winthrop, laughing. “You remem- 
ber, it was in regard to Christ"s command to go out into 
the world and preach the gospel and heal the sick; and 
the clergyman said that ministers had been sent in ac- 
cordance with this command, into all parts of the world. 
And then he said nothing about the command to heal 
the sick, except that the disciples and Paul had healed 
many people. And she said she began to think if Paul, 


294 Mary Starkweather. 

who had never seen Christ in the flesh, conld do those 
things, why couldn’t good people do them now? and 
then she told me she went to her room and took her 
Bible and read the promises of Christ; and that before 
she retired, it seemed to her she had gotten more out 
of her Bible to think about than ever before.” 

^^ell, I would like to say this,” said Mrs. Prescott, 
of Albany; don’t think any of us really realize or ap- 
preciate all that is going on around us. I think Miss 
Stevens demonstrated that. I think you were all a little 
surprised when she admitted she was a student of this 
new philosophy; and she is very intellectual, you know.” 

^^Oh, she is from Boston !” exclaimed Mrs. Delacey, 
^^and you know we expect intellectual freaks from there.” 

^^It’s a Boston prerogative,” said Mr. Sidley. 

^^ell,” declared Mrs. Prescott, ‘‘1 must relate a little 
experience of mine that I think will demonstrate that 
Boston does not have a monopoly of this new theory. I 
was talking to an enthusiast on this subject, one day, 
recently, and she made an assertion, that caused me to 
laugh incredulously; to which she said: ^Ask any of your 
friends who believe in this science and see if they do not 
tell you just what I do.’ I replied that I did not have a 
single friend that believed in the absurdity. The next 
day, I had an engagement for luncheon at the home of 
a very dear friend — a charming woman with three lovely 
children. There were about twenty ladies present, all 
unusally bright. I knew them all intimately. I broached 
the subject of my conversation the day previous. I had 
not spoken a dozen words before I saw that our hostess 
was interested. I paused for an instant, and she took 
up the subject, and before I had an opportunity to ex- 
press an opinion, I discovered that the majority at the 
table, if not believers, were at least interested in the study 


Society is Shocked. 295 

of some branch of metaphysics. I don’t think I ever was 
so much surprised in my life; and I can assure you that 
I heard some wonderful ideas advanced. I must say, 
some of them were very reasonable. But the one thing 
th^t struck me most forcibly was this: These ladies I 
had known intimately for years, and I don’t recall one 
among them that was not a member of some church ; and 
up to that time, I never had heard them discuss the Bible. 
I discovered they were all making a new study of it. 
And I came to the conclusion, before we finished luncheon, 
that they could not get very far away if they clung so 
tenaciously to the dear old Book. Every assertion they 
made, they reinforced with a quotation from it. When I 
expressed some surprise to my hostess that she was in- 
terested in this line of thought, she exclaimed: ^Dear 
me ! I wouldn’t know how to keep house and manage 
my husband and children but for my firm belief in this 
glorious Truth. I can get along without soothing syrups 
and pills, but not without this science of the mind.’ So, 
as I said before, we don’t know what is going on around 
us.” 

am sure you are quite right, Mrs. Prescott,” said 
Mrs. Winthrop; ^‘^and I have heard of a good many cures 
quite as wonderful as the colonel’s and little Euth’s. But 
I suppose our being right here in the house, we are more 
impressed by them. There are a number of churches, 
especially the Eoman Catholic Church, where these cures 
are frequent. At Lourdes, and many other shrines, they 
are quite common. And that makes me think that the 
Puritans must have believed in Mental Science. Witch- 
craft was supposed to be the infiuence of the mind of one 
person over another, was it not? I never thought of 
that before, did you?” 

‘‘No,” replied Mrs. Prescott, “I never did; but I ©an- 


296 Mary Starkweather. 

not see if the mind could have such an evil influence why 
it should not have also an influence for good.” 

^^Well,” said Mrs. de Lorme, don^t^ know anything 
about these things; but since you have been talking I 
have been thinking about Cousin Betty. You all know 
that after that dreadful illness of hers, she began to mend 
rapidly, and the physician said she would be up in a few 
days. Well, her sister, Mrs. Lockwood, came to see her, 
and the first thing she said to Betty was : ^hy, how aw- 
fully you’re looking! I don’t think the doctor under- 
stands your case at all. You are as a pale as death. 
You have not a drop of good red blood in your body. What 
in the world are they giving you?’ And she looked at 
the medicine and tasted it, and because it wasn’t strong 
and black and bitter, she declared it wasn’t any good; 
and she said : declare 1 If you don’t change your doc- 

tor you will never get well.’ And Cousin Betty got worse, 
and they have had an awful time with her. I heard the 
doctor say that it was nothing but Mrs. Lockwood’s talk; 
that Betty’s faith had been shaken and all his work un- 
done, and that he wished people could refrain from ad- 
verse suggestion. Now, what I have been thinking, is 
this: If suggestion could make her sick, why couldn’t it 
make her well? This is not the first time I have heard 
just such remarks from physicians, and it seems to me 
they make a great admission in favor of mental thera- 
peutics.” 

^^Well, do you believe a case of small-pox or a broken 
limb could be cured by mental therapeutics ?” asked Horace 
Burt. 

^^No, and as I understand it, Mrs. Thornton does not 
claim to be able to mend broken limbs. But she does claim 
that even in such cases mental therapeutics is a very valu- 
ble adjunct to the regular physician. I think she feels 


Society is Shocked. 297 

that the time is coming when there will be no limit to the 
power of mental suggestion.” 

don^t think that is so,” said Mr. Sidley; ‘^else the 
physicians would investigate it.” 

^^Mrs. Thornton claims that a great many broad-minded 
physicians are studying it and adopting it as an auxiliary 
to their practice,” replied Mrs. de Lorme. 

But at this moment the conversation was broken up by 
a message for one of the ladies, stating that her cousin, 
Mrs. White, had died suddenly. She was well known to 
many of those present. 


298 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTEE XX. 

BETHESDA. 

Mary was passing from object to object in the drawing- 
room of Bethesda, giving little womanly touches to vari- 
ous articles and, chatting to Charles as she moved about. 
They were so companionable; it was a perfect unity of 
souls. Eight years of wedded life had only accentuated 
the fact that two lives could be perfectly blended. Mary 
was saying: 

^^Well, I really feel quite at home already.^’ 

^^So do I. Do you know, the news of the cure of Colonel 
Eversoll and little Euth has spread like wild-fire, and I 
think you will be overrun with patients.’’ 

^^Oh, never mind ! I can take care of them,” cheerfully 
responded Mary. 

^^The doctor has told the colonel that he may have 
another attack at any time.” 

^^Believe me, dear, God rules and reigns. The colonel 
is well and will remain well. Believing as he does, his 
cure is simply a miracle. I never saw such manifestations 
as in his and little Euth’s case. It has taught me one 
thing: that I can never expect too great results from the 
word spoken for Truth.” 


Bethesda. 


299 


At this moment a servant entered and announced Mrs. 
Tremaine. Mary hurried forward to meet and welcome 
her. Again Mary’s sympathetic handclasp thrilled her. 
Mary noticed her emotion, and it again instantly brought 
back that hazy, misty, intangible resemblance as of some 
one she had known. Mrs. Tremaine had laid her sun- 
shade on the table. As she entered the room, Charles 
pushed forward a chair for her, and after the usual greet- 
ing, Mrs. Tremaine said to Mary: 

^^My dear Mrs. Thornton, I felt I could not wait to be 
ceremonious, and so have hastened to you early this morn- 
ing.” 

'T am so glad you came. Tell me, how is Euth?” 

‘^Apparently well. She slept soundly all night; this 
morning she sat up and ate her breakfast. After that, 
she walked twice across the room holding our hands. Oh, 
Mrs. Thornton, I can’t understand! It all seems too 
good to be true. Do you think she will remain well?” 

“Most certainly. Don’t give it a thought of fear. 
Think health and strength for her yourself. Remember, 
‘As a man thinketh so is he.’ Therefore, do not think 
sickness.” 

Mary then turned the conversation to her home; and 
after chatting a few moments, suggested that Mrs. Tre- 
maine go with her for a tour of inspection, laughingly 
telling Charles that he was not included in the invita- 
tion. While making the tour of inspection they went into 
the dining-room, and there Mary met one of the servants 
who wanted her advice about some matters in a different 
part of the house. So, Mary, giving Mrs. Tremaine a 
chair, excused herself and left her. 

In the meantime, Harry had entered the house and 
had gone to the drawing-room where he found Charles, 


300 


Mary Starkweather 

who, on seeing him, greeted him cordially, welcoming 
him to their new home, exclaiming: 

"Ah, Harry, old boy, is that you? I am glad to see 
you.” 

After a few casual remarks, Harry said: "I have come 
early as I wanted to have a little chat. I suppose, as we 
are old friends, I can talk plainly to you.” 

"Of course you can,” replied Charles a little curiously. 
"Come, out with it. It must be something serious. 
You look as solemn as an undertaker.” 

"I believe you received the nomination for Congress for 
your party?” asked Harry, seriously. 

"Yes, I did.” 

^TTou haven’t given that up to come here to open a 
sanatorium ?” 

Charles, who had wondered what was up, now laughed as 
he replied: 

"Lord bless your soul, no. I shall be in the thick of 
the fight before the end of next week.” 

"I am glad to hear that,” said Harry. 

"Am I to count on your support?” asked Charles. 

^^ell, I should say so!” enthusiastically responded 
Harry, giving him his hand. "From start to finish I am 
with you, personally, politically and financially. Con- 
sider me your backer.” 

"Eoyally said. Thanks, thanks!” said Charles, with 
genuine appreciation, as he grasped Harry’s hand. "But 
what was it you wanted to say to me?” 

‘^ell, I don’t want to be impertinent; hut — that is — 
well, what does this mean ?” said Harry, waving his hands. 

"To what do you refer ?” 

"To this house. I confess it gives me a feeling of un- 
easiness to see you mixed up in a thing of this sort. A 
politician and a sanatorium mixed! My dear hoy, it 


Bethesda. 


301 

won’t do. Better take your politics like I take my drinks 
— straight.” 

Charles broke into a long hearty laugh. Harry looked 
at him a moment, and then said seriously: 

“Eeally, it’s no laughing matter. Your enemies mighi 
get hold of this and make things lively for you. I imagine 
I see some of the headlines now: Tlasters put on Politi- 
cal Corruption.’ ‘^Emetics given to Boodlers by the New 
Candidate for Congress.’ And the pictorial papers and 
magazines — why, just imagine it ! They’ll have you with 
a nightcap on, going round in your pajamas, with a 
bottle of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup, or with a halo 
over your head, raising the dead.” 

While Harry was drawing his word-picture, Charles was 
shaking with laughter. 

^^Well, well! Upon my word, Hal, you ought to be an 
illustrator on some paper ! I’ll see if I can’t find a vacancy 
for you;” and Charles roared again. 

^iook here, Charlie, it isn’t funny at all. It’s serious. 
Eidicule in politics, of all things, is hardest to bear.” 

^^There, there!” said Charles, consolingly, as he patted 
Harry on the shoulders. ^^Now, my dear boy, don’t worry. 
The enterprise belongs entirely to my wife. It has been 
her dream for years to have a summer place of this sort. 
At last, she is able to realize it. I am in perfect sympathy 
with her ; but I have nothing to do with it personally. She 
has named the place Bethesda, and I will find it a Bethesda 
for my tired soul as I come here each Saturday night to 
recuperate for each succeeding week of the campaign.” 

have known something of your wife’s liberal ideas 
and methaphysical studies; but I had no idea she would 
carry them so far as this. You know, it is — ah — er — ex- 
cuse me, Charlie; but — you are aware stammered 

Harry. 


302 


Mary Starkweather. 

Charles stood looking at Harry as he stuttered and hesi- 
tated, trying to find the words he wanted to use, and evi- 
dently much embarrassed. It amused him very much to 
see this glib, quick-tongued Harry, who was never at loss 
for a word, now evidently floundering and fishing for a 
way to say a disagreeable thing pleasantly. And he said 
encouragingly to him: 

^^Oh, go on, go on, say what you please ! Out with it !” 
^^Well, to come right out and stamp one’s self as a 
Spiritualist, Christian Scientist, Theosophist, or anything , 
of the sort, is out of the usual line, and, to tell you the 
truth, with you and your wife’s social position, you can’t 
afford it.” Harry spoke earnestly, and seemed greatly 
concerned in the matter. ^ 

^^Look here, Harry, I think you are a fit candidate for 
the ^Don’t Worry Club.’ Don't worry about our social 
position. My wife is simply a Christian; believing that { 
Christ was the greatest teacher that has ever been given 
to the world. She thinks the art of healing has been ♦ 
lost from the Christian world and churches, just as the 
art of stained glass was lost from Art. She hopes to see 
the art or science of healing restored, and that is what she 
is working for.” i 

^That’s all very beautiful; but your wife has always . 

been a society leader, and 

^^Ah ! I see, Hal,” laughed Charles, ^^you can’t quite get 
away from the old idea that a woman should be a butter- 
fly.” 

no, no ! not that. But society — ^you see, it has ■ 

claims. You don’t seem to understand, and , 

Charles, who had been in a laughing mood, and had 
really enjoyed the confusion and embarrassment of Harry, 
now became very serious as he answered earnestly: 

^'Yes, I do understand. How, let me set your mind at , 


Bethesda. 


303 


rest, once and for all. There is society and — society. My 
wife is not going to wear bloomers, nor blue spectacles, 
nor cut off her hair. She is just as fond of society, pretty 
dresses, dancing, music, flowers, as she ever was. These 
are things that make life glad, and in which she em- 
phatically believes ; but she also feels there are other things 
in life to which she desires to devote a part of her time. 
She has my consent, my approbation, my co-operation. 
And, if my political career depended on her giving up this 
work, I would give it up to-morrow. But it will not. 
She will remain here, sending me helpful thoughts as a 
sweet wife should, and no matter which way the election 
goes, all will be well with me. So donT fret, old man.” 

Looking in Charleses frank, courageous, honest face, 
Harry felt almost ashamed of his fears as he replied r 
^‘Your wife is indeed a jewel. She is so serene, so sunny, 
so helpful, her very presence touches me like a benedic- 
tion.” 

am glad you are fond of my wife. Ours has been, 
I believe, an exceptionally happy married life.” 

believe it. But tell me, how do you both manage to 
be so saintly?” smilingly asked Harry. 

‘^Come, come, Hal! that almost sounds like sarcasm,” 
replied Charles, smiling good-naturedly. ^^We are neither 
of us saints, especially myself — far from it. We are just 
two very human persons with all the temptations and 
weaknesses of our race. But there is one thing we are 
striving to do: We are both striving upward, and striv- 
ing together, not separately. We try to think and work 
together — that^s all.” 

believe all you say,” sighed Harry, a discontented, 
unhappy look coming into his face, as he leaned against 
the window-casing and gazed dejectedly out at the morn- 
ing sunshine that seemed to be bathing the whole world 


304 


Mary Starkweather. 

in its glorious refulgence. He sighed again, as he con- 
tinued, ^^Ah! You’re a lucky dog, Charlie.” 

Charles had been watching Harry, and was quite sur- 
prised at the frown of discontent that overspread his face. 
“Happy Harry,” his friends called him. Nothing ever 
seemed to trouble him. His life seemed to flow by like 
a song. Charles felt there was something out of the 
ordinary the matter; but he laughed lightly as he said in 
a rallying manner: 

“Don’t scowl like that, Hal. You’ll dislodge your scalp. 
What’s up now ?” 

“Oh, I’m in the worst trouble !” 

Instantly Charles became very serious, and going up to 
Harry he laid his hand upon his shoulder, as he asked with 
much interest: 

“Really? I’m sorry. Is it anything you can tell me? 
Perhaps I can help you. It’s not serious, I hope.” 

“Yes, it is. I’m in love,” replied Harry, disconsolately. 

At this instant Mrs. Tremaine entered for her sunshade 
that she had left lying on the table. Charles and Harry 
were standing facing the window. Charles laughed at 
Harry’s assertion and said: 

“Oh, is that all! Well, why don’t you marry?” 

^^ell, I like that I You, of all men, to say that to me.” 

“And why not I?” 

“You know that I am a married man with a wife and 
child living.” 

“It is true; but for the moment I had forgotten.” 

A slight noise, and they both turned and saw Mrs. Tre- 
maine. She stood looking at them as if frozen. Charles, 
glancing at Harry’s face, saw his look of consternation, and 
partly guessing that he was de troy, said in an under- 
tone: 


Bethesda. 


305 

^^Ah, I see Then aloud, wish to see my wife a mo- 
ment. Excuse me;^’ and he made his exit 

Harry and Mrs. Tremaine stood gazing at each other, she 
as if transfixed, he very much embarrassed. 

‘‘You were there — ^you heard?” he asked. 

“All— all.” 

Harry felt as if he would sink before her gaze. He 
loved her so! — so truly, so honestly. How could he tell 
her — how make her understand 1 At this moment he could 
not have looked more abject if he had been guilty of the 
most awful crime; and it was with a husky, choking voice 
he said: 

“You will let me explain — ^you will 

“Is it true?” she interrupted. 

Yes— that is 

She had stood like a statue, apparently in hopes that 
there was a mistake; but at his halting, hesitating reply, 
her eyes now began to flash ominously as she said: 

“Then it is true.” 

“My dear Mrs. Tremaine, let me explain ” 

“I want no explanation. I want yes or m. Is it true ?” 
she demanded with suppressed excitement. 

“Yes, it is true; but 

Instantly she exclaimed in a fury: “And you, you, you 
dared to come to me! You, a married man, to pursue 
me with your attentions — ^to Oh, it is too much!” 

He was dumb with astonishment as he listened to her 
outburst of anger and honest indignation. In her tem- 
per and excitement, she had shown more of her real re- 
gard for him than he, in his wildest moment, hafd dared 
to hope for. And now, he feared she was lost to him 
forever. With a mighty effort, he said eagerly but inco- 
herently : 

“I beseech you, listen to me ! It is true I am a married 


3o 6 Mary Starkweather. 

man, but I never loved my wife. It was a matter of money. 
I detested her, I detest her now. I — that is — I never lived 
with her — I 

He stopped short at the look that swept into her face. 
Amazement, disgust, and contempt were all mingled there, 
as she said: 

‘^Hever lived with her — and you have a child ! There ! 
That will do, Mr. Burbank. No, no, no V’ she exclaimed as 
he protesting, tried to explain. “Not another word. Do 
not add falsehood to your other sins. I will not listen. I 
could not marry you. I would not marry you; but I did 
want to respect you!’’ she exclaimed, as, catching up her 
sunshade she turned toward the door. Harry started to- 
ward her, and said imploringly: 

“Mrs. Tremaine, for God’s sake, listen! I swear the 
child ” 

She put up her hands to silence him, as she moved to- 
ward the door, he said frantically: 

“Oh, you do not understand!” 

She had reached the door. She turned like a flash and 
exclaimed in a frenzy: 

“Yes, I do understand. You thought I was alone, un- 
protected. You thought you could insult me. You 
thought ” 

He sprang toward her with a beseeching look; but it 
was of no use. She was in a perfect whirlwind of passion 
and would listen to nothing. 

“No, no! I will hear no more. There is no apology 
you can make, no falsehood you could speak, that would 
excuse you. I never want to see your face again — never — 
never! Don’t you dare to follow me, don’t you ever dare 
to speak to me again !” were her parting words as she fled 
from the room and the house. 


Bethesda. 


307 


Safely within her own room, she threw herself on a 
divan, and now that she was alone, all her haughty spirit 
failed her and she was only a weak woman, crushed under 
the horror of the words that were ringing in her ears. Her 
whole frame shook, and the hot blinding tears fell from 
her eyes like rain. ^^Oh, I loved him so, I loved him so V’ 
she moaned. Her dream was rudely broken; her illusion 
of happiness destroyed. ^^Ah, God ! is there no truth, no 
mercy, no honesty in man?” 

After a while she became calmer; and she allowed her 
thoughts to travel back over the past few days. The 
meeting with Mary, the cure of Euth, the awful scene of 
the morning with Sidney — ^then this cruel blow. She had 
known she could never he Harry’s wife ; but to her lonely 
heart the knowledge of his love had come like halm. The 
fact that he loved her and had asked her to be his wife, 
without ever asking her a question, without even know- 
ing who she was, had made him almost a god in her sight. 
She thought this man that could let love dominate him, 
instead of the world, must he near the angels. And now, 
now to find that he was only of common clay, a thing to 
be despised, a creature to he abhorred! and to think she 
had loved this man! Her face flushed, now, as she re- 
membered how her heart had leaped up as he whispered, 
love you.” She was in despair. The blow had been 
so sudden. She felt weak and helpless. Thus, for a 
while, she sat inactive. Then she thought: cannot re- 

main here and meet either of those men again.” She re- 
membered what Mrs. Thornton had said about Euth : that 
she was well and would remain well. She must go away 
at once. 

She arose and took up the morning paper, and found 
that a Cunard steamer would sail for Europe at six o’clock 
that day. It was now near noon. If she could get ready 


3o 8 Mary Starkweather. 

in time for the three o’clock train, she could reach New 
York in time to sail on that vessel. She wrote a telegram 
for accommodations, called a servant, and sent it at once. 
Then, assisting the maid in packing, they were soon ready 
for their journey. But her heart was wrung at Euth’s 
pleading to see her dear Sir Knight and Gertrude before 
leaving. 

No one knew Mrs. Tremaine was going until the last 
moment. Then, the only reason she gave was that she had 
been suddenly summoned to the city. She had written 
only one letter, and that was to Mary, apologizing for her 
sudden departure and promising an explanation later. 


Puzzling Questions. 


309 


CHAPTER XXL 

PUZZLING QUESTIONS OF CARL AND GERTRUDE. 

When Mrs. Tremaine had fled from the room where 
Harry was, he stood irresolute for a moment, then ex- 
claimed to himself: 

^‘^Was ever anything more unfortunate? What a perfect 
tempest! I will follow her, I will force her to listen to 
me.” 

He started as if to carry out his resolve; then, as her 
words came back to him, ^^You thought I was alone — ^un- 
protected,” he hesitated as he reflected: 

‘^No; she would think I forced myself on her because 
she is alone. ISTo, I cannot do that. What shall I do? 
She has gone from me with contempt and bitterness in her 
heart. How can I see her — how make her understand the 
miserable situation in which I am placed?” 

He felt the very scorching of her honest eyes, and he re- 
membered the scorn that curved her lip and dilated her 
nostrils when she thought he had lied to her. He had been 
in doubt before, as to whether he was able to touch her 
heart; but she had betrayed herself. And now, he felt 
he never could give her up ; but he realized he must move 
with care. He always had shown her the most profound 
respect. He would not force himself upon her, but see 


310 Mary Starkweather. 

her he must. But how? A sudden thought seemed to 
strike him : 

^‘1 have it! I will make a clean breast of the whole 
affair to Mrs. Thornton. She can and will help me out.^’ 

He went at once to find her, and learned that she had 
gone down to the cottages to assist in receiving some of 
the people that were to occupy them, and that she would 
not return until luncheon. There was nothing for him 
to do but wait to see her. 

He went back to the drawing-room where he found 
Charles, who had seen Mrs. Tremaine leave, and at once 
returned to look for Harry who said, in answer to Charles’s 
smiles and knowing looks : 

^'Yes, that is the woman I love. But we will not dis- 
cuss her at present. When she entered, we were speaking 
of my wife.” 

‘^Yes. Do you ever hear from her?” 

‘Tndirectly, yes. Every six months a letter is exchanged 
in the bank by her lawyer and mine, merely stating the 
fact that we are each alive. About a year after our 
marriage, a letter came, saying that owing to the death of 
a relative she no longer needed the money deposited for her. 
Nevertheless, I ordered the deposit continued ; but I learned 
yesterday through my lawyer, that the whole amount re- 
mains untouched.” 

^Ht was a strange marriage — ^in fact, no marriage at 
all.” 

‘^Of course it wasn’t ; and I was a cad ever to have bound 
myself in that way. All I thought of at the time was 
Uncle Ealph’s money, when I ought to have had nerve 
enough to have gone to work and earned my own living. 
I suppose I deserve what I’ve got. At any rate, I would 
give all I possess, now, to be free. Come, Charlie, you 
are a lawyer; advise me. Can’t I obtain a divorce?” 


Puzzling Questions. 31 1 

“1 am a lawyer, yes. But I won’t give you advice/’ 
smilingly asserted Charles. ‘^We are too near friends for 
that. I would be partial. — Dr. Malridge and Colonel Ever- 
soll are coming to luncheon ; also the Brandts, Miss Stevens, 
Donald, and Bennie. We will have a merry party at our 
dedicatory luncheon, and you can just tackle the colonel 
and get his opinion; and if he gives you any hope. I’ll 
promise to back it up by my superior judgment.” 

^There !” exclaimed Harry ; ^Halk of the dev — I mean of 
the colonel — and he appears. There he is, hobbling along 
without crutch or cane, even declining the assistance of 
grinning Billy. Well, it does me good to see the dear 
old fellow on his pins once more. Talk about a miracle ! 
If that isn’t a miracle I’d like to know what is?” 

Charles said nothing, and they stood watching the 
colonel who had descended unaided from the buggy, and 
was walking unassisted to the house. Harry turned and 
caught Charles by the hand, exclaiming with much feel- 
ing: 

^^By George! Charlie, you must forgive me for my 
remarks regarding your wife’s pursuits if through her such 
results can be brought about. I feel as if I ought to hide 
my face in shame.” 

When the colonel entered, Harry rushed forward, hastily 
placing a large, easy chair for him. 

^^Here, here ! what are you doing ? I don’t want to sit 
down. Just give me a chance to prance around a little 
and show you how smart I am,” said the colonel, disdain- 
ing the chair. He had a somewhat larger shoe on his lame 
foot and walked with a slight limp only, and declared 
positively that he had no pain. 

After a little friendly chat, Charles said: 

^^We were talking about you when you appeared. In 


312 Mary Starkweather. 

short, Harry’s in trouble and wants your assistance. He 
is in love.” 

^Hndeed ? Well, that’s a good thing. Who is the lady ?” 

^^With the loveliest woman in the world,” declared Harry, 
looking at the colonel who slowly shook his head, and 
Harry added: ‘^Oh, you’ll say so when you know who she 
is.” 

^^You forget the colonel and I are married, and that 
from our standpoint, we each have the loveliest woman in 
the world,” laughed Charles. 

^‘Oh, I forgot!” replied Harry. ^Tll modify it and 
say one of the loveliest.” 

^‘That’s better,” said the colonel, with a sigh. ^^Ah! 
boys, wait a few years; then you’ll know how to say love- 
liest and best. My wife, my wife ! How often I say these 
words. Sometimes, when we are in a crowd, where, to me, 
she is the loveliest of all women, I say to myself: ‘My 
wife — ^the mother of my boys!’ and a thrill vibrates 
through every fiber of my frame exquisite in its sweetness 
and pain.” 

“Pain? how is that?” asked Harry. 

“Yes, pain. For sometimes a thought comes to me of 
death ; and it’s unendurable. Death ! Does it end all ? 
Hell would be sweet to me if shared with her; and heaven 
would be hell without her. The bitterest moment of my 
life was once when I thought she was going to die and 
go I knew not where. What anguish I suffered ! I would 
have given words, to believe it was only a temporary 
parting.” 

The colonel turned away and walked to the extreme end 
of the room; then, tossing his hands in the air as if to 
chase away the thoughts that had rushed to his brain, 
he returned to where Charles and Harry were, and said in 
his customary breezy manner: 


Puzzling Questions. 313 

‘^But come; 3»ou wanted my advice and I stand here 
moralizing.” 

^^It is difficult to ask your advice after hearing you ex- 
press such sentiment.” 

^^How so? Come, let us have it. I promise to confine 
myself to business.” 

“My dear colonel, you have not forgotten that Harry 
is a married man?” queried Charles. 

“No, no; I have not forgotten it, although I have never 
talked about it to you. It has — but come close and 
I’ll tell you a secret,” said the colonel mysteriously, com- 
ing over and standing between the two. “On the quiet, 
mind — just between us three — I have a Conscience,” — 
with the air of a man that had just thrown a bomb. 

“No, impossible!” exclaimed Harry and Charles, deri- 
sively. 

“Yes. Sad isn’t it? But ’tis true,” — with mock 
solemnity, replied the colonel. 

“Oh, Charles, what a discovery! Let me lean on your 
shoulder and weep. Columbus isn’t in it,” said Harry. 

“I am as much affected by the discovery as you,” re- 
turned Charles. “From this time on, we are not un- 
known. Our names will go ringing down the corridors of 
time. From this time on, the orthodox world is at our 
feet. We have succeeded where they have so often ex- 
plored in vain.” 

“Yes, and — and — a waiting posterity and all that sort 
of thing. Excuse my emotion, I am so overcome!” ex- 
claimed Harry, drawing out his handkerchief, and apply- 
ing it to his eyes. 

The colonel stood watching them, with a quizzical look 
on his face. Then followed a shout of laughter from these 
two fellows of whom he was so fond. 

“Oh, hang it all ! Colonel, what has your conscience to 


314 Mary Starkweather. 

do with my getting a divorce? — and that is just what I 
want.’^ 

^^Well, the thing I call my conscience has troubled me 
a good many times when I have remembered what a very 
large finger I had in that matrimonial pie.’’ 

^‘The whole affair was too bad. Harry repents now,” 
said Charles. 

^^How are yon going to get a divorce ?” asked the colonel, 
don’t know,” replied Harry. ‘^‘That is why I came 
to yon.” 

^^My dear boy, my conscience will not permit ” 

He got no farther in his remark. Charles and Harry 
fell into each other’s arms in a state of collapse, and Harry 
exclaimed despairingly : 

^^That conscience again. Heavens ! how the thing has 
grown.” 

“Harry, my boy, I fear we have an elephant on onr 
hands. I don’t think I can stand it any longer. Sorry 
to leave yon in the lurch, but I have some matters to 
attend to and will join you later,” laughed Charles, as 
he quitted the room. 

“Hal, old fellow, in all seriousness, I’m sorry for you,” 
declared the colonel. 

“Well, then, in all seriousness, I am absolutely misera- 
ble in spite of our fooling. I never felt my bonds until 
recently. In fact, I had almost forgotten that they ex- 
isted. But lately, I have been forced to remember them. 
And I ask you now, for the love of heaven, to help me 
out of this if you can. I must be free.” 

“You know nothing of the whereabouts of your wife?” 

“Hothing, absolutely nothing. How, what can be done ?” 

“My dear fellow, according to our laws, there must be 
an offense committed on one side or the other. Now, sueh 
is not the case in this affair,” 


Puzzling Questions. 315 

^^Then, what in the deuce is to be done ? I simply must 
have the divorce,” exclaimed Harry, desperately. 

I had the making of the laws, I would set you both 
free merely for the asking; but I have not the making 
of the laws, therefore, I fear there is no help for you. 
Write to your wife. She may feel she has been badly 
treated, and by getting the divorce, save you the trou- 
ble.” 

Iliey were here interrupted by the entrance of the 
children and Dr. Malridge. 

^‘Ah, here is Dr. Malridge, and here is our girlie-girlie,” 
exclaimed the colonel, kissing Gertrude, who had thrown 
herself into his arms. 

think I am a little early,” said the doctor, seating 
himself in an easy chair. ‘^But I came early for a little 
visit. How good it is to find a place where no ceremony 
is needed. I wonder where the general is?” 

‘H think he will be along directly,” replied the colonel, 
gaily. am like you ; it seems like home here already — 
just to see the old faces.” 

"I see you are able to walk,” said the doctor. 

'^Yes, thank goodness.” 

‘^You do not fear a relapse?” 

^^Hot I. I believe I am cured,” laconically replied the 
colonel. 

j '‘How do you account for it?” queried Dr. Malridge. 

I "I don’t account for it. I know that for the first time 
I in two years, I have eaten a square meal in comfort and 
I am free from pain. That is enough for me, at present.” 
I "Here at the Springs the people are insane over what 
I they are pleased to term your and the child’s miraculous 
i cures,” said the doctor. 

I "Well, it’s a healthy insanity, isn’t it?” humorously 
1 questioned the colonel. 


3i 6 Mary Starkweather. 

“But suppose you should relapse ?” persisted the doctor. 

“Well, suppose I should. People have been sick, got 
well, and got sick again. There is nothing remarkable 
about it that I know of. Even the people you claim Christ 
cured, got sick and died some time — or I suppose they did, 
as I never heard of any of them being around anywhere,” 
retorted the colonel. 

“Well, I hope you will remain well; but I fully expect 
to see you back in your Pull-man car, same as ever.” 

Gertrude and Carl had been playing about the room. 
They were now standing by the table, trying to work out 
a puzzle in blocks. She had a doll in her arms. She no- 
ticed the doctors remark, and looking up, said confidently : 

“He will not be sick again.” 

“Why will he not ?” asked Dr. Malridge, very much sur- 
prised at her assertion. 

Gertrude looked up, apparently astonished that a big 
man like Dr. Malridge should not know and replied: 

“Because — this was your lame foot, wasn’t it pointing 
to the colonel’s lame foot. 

“Yes,” replied the colonel. 

“Well, God was not in that foot; but He is in it now; 
and it is a good foot just like the other foot.” 

“How can a man be in my foot?” asked the colonel. 

Gertrude raised her eyes and looked at him: “I didn’t 
say a manP 

“You said heP 

For an instant she hesitated, then asked: 

“Is the sun a man? I heard you call the sun he, yes- 
terday. I asked mamma about it, and she said that the 
sun is called he; but it is Spirit or principle — just as God 
is Spirit or principle; that the sun is warm and shines 
into us and makes us warm, just as God is Spirit and 
shines into us and makes us well. Don’t you see ? It’s very 


Puzzling Questions. 317 

easy^’ — ^giving a little finishing touch to the ribbon-sash 
she was tying about the waist of her doll. Then, as if a 
new thought had struck her, she went on: “I went to the 
closet a little while ago, to get my dollies. It was so dark 
I couldn’t see. The light was not good, or a God-light,” 
here she looked up and said impressively: ^^You know, 
mamma says Good and God mean the same thing; that 
everything that is Good is God; and that everything that 
is God is Good. Don’t you see? Well, I had to light 
the gas to let the Good or God-light into the closet before 
I could find my dollies. That’s just the way it was with 
you. The Good Light was not in your foot. I asked God 
to please let it in and make your foot a good foot; and 
you are well. Oh, you know God does everything for us, 
if we only ask Him in the right way,” concluded Gertrude, 
with a little contented sigh, as she stood her dolly upon 
the table and straightened its dress. 

They had all been listening to her. The colonel rubbed 
the top of his head, drew a long breath, and blurted out: 

^W^ell, I’ll be blowed!” 

^Tsn’t it funny !” laughed Gertrude, turning round and 
looking at the colonel. ^^Did you think God was a man, 
sitting up on the edge of a cloud, looking down at you 
to scare you ? Oh, Colonel ! Mamma says even if I am 
little I must cultivate my mind. I think, you had better 
cultivate your mind. You know, you can take a little at 
a time, and then it won’t hurt you.” 

Carl called Gertrude to help him with his puzzle. The 
colonel looked limp. Harry laughed and said : 

“1 have read, somewhere, of wisdom coming from the 
mouths of babes and sucklings — eh. Colonel?” 

think I will have to go out into the air in order 
to breathe,” laughed the colonel. "T feel quite done up. 
Who ever heard of a child talking like that?” 


3i 8 Mary Starkweather. 

remember, once,’' said Harry, ''to have heard you 
say in a lecture that children should be taught to think. 
Gertrude has been taught to think; that’s all.” 

"Yes; but this child thinks too much,” replied the 
colonel. 

"What monstrous stuff to teach a child!” exclaimed 
Dr. Malridge, in grave concern, as he began pacing the 
floor. 

"Oh, I don’t know. It’s just about as sensible as what 
you teach them,” replied the colonel, bristling up. He was 
loathe to attack a child, but there was always a religious 
chip on his shoulder when the doctor was around. 

The doctor stopped in his walk, and laying his hand on 
Gertrude’s head, asked: 

"What Sunday-school have you gone to?” 

"Oh, I never went to Sunday-school 1” 

"How unfortunate !” sighed the good man as he turned 
away. 

"What great luck, I should say !” exclaimed the colonel, 
ironically. "Sunday-school, indeed ! Most people have 
a perfectly quiet conscience in regard to their children if 
they know they have been regularly bathed, spanked, and 
sent to Sunday-school.” 

"Colonel, you are actually profane.” 

The colonel made a gesture of impatience and retorted : 
"Well, I can assure you it makes me feel profane when I 
see how the minds of children are tampered with. And 
I emphatically protest against Sam Jonesing, a boy of 
good breeding and bias.” 

"Ah!” sighed the doctor, "say what you will; but in 
these days, when the devil is turned loose, there is no place 
so safe for a boy as the Sunday-school.” 

When Dr. Malridge spoke of the devil, both Carl and 
Gertrude looked up. Gertrude came over and stood look- 


Puzzling Questions. 319. 

ing at the doctor. Colonel Eversoll laughed at the doctor’s 
remark, and said: 

read a very good thing the other day. An old min- 
ister had three grandsons visiting him from the city. He 
j had sounded them on their various studies, and found them 
[i well advanced. So, he thought he would like to know how 
!; they were fortified religiously. He took a Catechism and 
I asked the eldest boy: ^Ealph Waldo, what is the chief end 
i of man ?’ ^The head,’ was the prompt reply. The answer 
in the Catechism was : ‘To get to Heaven and glorify God.’ 
j The old man was a little surprised, but he thought he 
I wouldn’t be discouraged, and he asked the second boy: 

I ‘Herbert Spencer, how did God create man?’ ‘By evolu- 
tion from protoplasm. The protoplasm became an amoeba, 
and the amoeba became, in long ages, an amphibian, and 
the amphibian became a vertebrate, and the highest verte- 
brates are mammals, and we are the highest mammals.’ 
You see, the boys in these days breathe physiology and 
biology, and immediately think in a physiological man- 
ner. It took the old man’s breath away, and with a gasp, 
he asked the youngest boy : ‘Eobert I., how did God create 
the angels ?’ ‘I don’t know. There is nothing about that 
in my biology. I suppose they must come from some 
branch of the anthropoid ape.’ The old man shut up the 
book and excused himself and went out to think. I guess 
he’s thinking yet,” said the colonel, with a comical grin 
on his face. “But I’ll be blest if I wouldn’t rather have 
the ideas of those boys than the ideas of my boyhood.” 

“You are a rank atheist. Colonel. You’re worse than 
an agnostic,” said Dr. Malridge. 

“So I am an atheist, am I ?” cried the colonel, warmly, 
“simply because I object to children having their brains 
tinkered with, and manipulated by ignorance. If you have 
a fine watch with perfect mechanism, do you send it to a 


320 


Mary Starkweather. 

blacksmith or to a common jeweler to have it repaired? 
By no means. You send it to an expert — ^to a Tiffany; 
but your child, whose brain is a thousand times more deli- 
cate in its mechanism, you send to a blatherskite Sunday- 
school teacher to be tinkered with, one that doesn’t know 
enough to teach even what you yourself believe. Go to ! 
it disgusts me just to think about it !” exclaimed he, 
warmly, waving his hand as if there was no more to be 
said on the subject, and that it was folly to discuss it 
further. 

At this moment, Gertrude, who was leaning against the 
doctor, who had his arms around her, said: 

“Mamma says you are such a good man ; that you have 
— oh ! such a beautiful church, that you do a great deal of 
good. What do you do there? Do the sick people go 
there to be healed, as they go down to Mabelthorp and 
here at our new home?” 

“Yes, my child,” said the doctor, gently stroking her 
golden hair. “Every Sunday they go there to drink of the 
Kiver that gives to them life everlasting.” 

“On Sundays? Well, but what do you do the rest of 
the week with your beautiful church?” 

“Keep it shut up and take good care of it, and keep it 
to worship God in,” said the doctor, reverently. 

“I should think you would want to keep it open all the 
time,” said Gertrude, “and let the people drink of the 
water of life every day.” 

There was a chuckle of enjoyment from the colonel at 
this remark. 

The doctor put his hand tenderly under Gertrude’s chin, 
and lifting her face up, he looked into the beautiful blue 
eyes, and asked: 

“My dear, do you and your mamma heal the people 
every day?” 


Puzzling Questions. 321 

^‘Oh! we do not heal any one/^ said Gertrude, stepping 
back, with a look of surprise coming into her face. 
only speak the Word of Truth. God that is within you, 
and in every one, does the healing. I speak the Word 
every day to the dogs and to my kittens and to my dollies 
and to the birds and butterflies and rabbits and e-v-e-r-y 
one! And He makes them well and happy. Don’t you 
see ?” 

^^Where did you learn this?” 

^^Oh, I never learned it. I always knew it.” 

‘^Gertrude thinks that’s prayer,” chimed in Carl. ‘‘How, 
is it ? Didn’t you say, in Sunday-school, that people ought 
to kneel down and pray in secret, or go into a closet and 
pray?” 

“Yes,” replied the doctor. 

“How, Gertrude, I told you so,” said Carl. 

“Is that the way you pray?” asked Gertrude of the 
doctor. 

“Yes, my dear.” 

“My!” said Gertrude, surveying the long legs of the 
doctor. “I should think that would be very uncomfort- 
able — ^to double up your legs like that all the time.” 

“How do you pray?” asked the doctor. 

“Oh, many ways,” said Gertrude, with animation. 
“Sometimes I get in my swing or I curl up on the sofa, 
where I am real comfortable, and I think and think of the 
beautiful world ; and I wish everybody could have a beauti- 
ful home and beautiful flowers, and I just say, ‘Beautiful, 
beautiful, beautiful — Love, love, love — Truth, truth, truth 
— Health, health, health — Hope, hope, hope — Trust, trust, 
trust, — and oh, so many nice little words like that. I 
say them until I feel little quivers all around me and all 
up and down my back ; and I know the air is full of little 
prayers; and I know God understands. Then I go off to 


322 


Mary Starkweather. 

sleep, and forget all about it, and when I wake up I feel 
so good and happy, and I know God will look after things. 
1 think that’s a great deal nicer than doubling up your legs 
in a dark closet. Oh, it’s awful nice! You ought to 
just try it some time.” 

There was a smothered laugh in the direction of the 
colonel and Harry; also a suspicious sound from the re- 
ception-room, the door of which w'as ajar. The doctor 
was looking at Gertrude as if he did not exactly know 
what reply to make, when Carl said: 

"And she thinks this is prayer! That’s the way she 
cured Bunny yesterday. Didn’t you ?” 

"Of course I did. I just wrapped him up in a nice 
little shawl, and laid him on the sofa, and I kept saying, 
^Health, health, health.’ Then I said, Tlease, God, will 
you just attend to Bunny?’ And I went to sleep until 
Bunny woke me up with his little cold nose, and he was 
well. When Carl told me, the other day, what you said 
about prayer, I asked Mamma about it; and she said the 
secret closet was the heart; so, when we pray in secret 
we pray in our heart. Mamma said if any one wanted to 
go in a closet or pray on their knees it’s all right if they 
feel that way. Every one must do his own way. She says 
she can pray better when she is going about in all places. 
Colonel Eversoll prays just the same way I do.” 

"Oh, he never prays,” said Dr. Malridge. 

"Oh, but he does! I heard him make, oh, the most 
beautifullest prayer yesterday; didn’t I, Colonel?” 

For once, and only once, perhaps the colonel regretted 
that he was compelled to say: 

"Well, I guess I didn’t pray.” 

Gertrude stood looking first at the doctor, then at the 
colonel. At last she asked: 

^^hat is prayer? Isn’t it something you desire very 


Puzzling Questions. 323 

much — something good that you wish for way down from 
the bottom of your heart T* 

^^Yes, my child/^ replied the doctor. 

^^Well, yesterday I heard the colonel say: wish from 
the bottom of my soul, I could make every man, woman, 
and child happy on this earth.’ Now, if that isn’t prayer, 
what is it?” 

The colonel laughed heartily as he said: ^^Dear me! 
I wonder if I’ve been a praying man all my life and didn’t 
know it. Haven’t you a hymn which says something about 
prayer being the soul’s sincere desire?” 

“I think we have,” replied the doctor, ‘^but I don’t 
think it applies to you.” 

Gertrude didn’t seem to see anything to laugh about, 
and stood leaning against the chair with a thoughtful look 
in her face. Harry came over, and seating himself in 
the chair, took her hand and asked: 

^^What are you thinking about now, little one?” 

^'Oh, the devil.” 

Every one turned and looked at her for a minute. The 
way she said it certainly sounded rather queer, for her, 
and there was an audible smile about to break forth; but 
evidently, Carl understood it, for he chimed in with : 

^^My Sunday-school teacher said there was a devil, and 
now Dr. Malridge says there is a devil. Gertrude says 
there isn’t a devil.” 

^^What did your nice Sunday-school teacher tell you 
that for?” satirically questioned the colonel, with a mali- 
cious twinkle in his eyes. 

^^Oh, Freddie Wittin went to sleep in Sunday-school, 
and he had his mouth open, and I killed- two flies and 
dropped them in his mouth to wake him up ; and he pretty 
near swallowed them, and he cried like anything. And 
the teacher told me I was a bad boy, and asked me if I 


324 Mary Starkweather. 

wasn^t afraid the devil would get me. And I told him 
I didn^t know what the devil was like; and he said the 
devil was just like God, only he was ugly, and had horns 
and a tail, and hoofs on his feet like my pony, and that he 
would carry off bad little boys. And Gertrude says it isn^t 
so.^^ 

"Well, I’m only a little girl, but I know better than 
that.” 

"How do you know ?” questioned Carl. 

"Well, God made everything, and if there was a devil, 
God would have to make him. Would you make a lot of 
nice little boys and girls and then make an ugly old 
devil to come and carry them off? Would you be as mean 
as that, Carl?” 

"Of course I wouldn’t.” 

"Then be sure God wouldn’t do it.” 

"By George ! she’s a philosopher,” laughingly exclaimed 
the colonel to Harry. 

"But Dr. Malridge said, a little while ago, that the 
devil was turned loose — didn’t you. Doctor?” persisted 
Carl. 

"Yes,” replied the doctor. 

Gertrude had been taught that she could talk and ask 
questions, but that she must not dispute any person’s 
word. So she said nothing; and Carl thought she was 
vanquished. There was a little triumphant tone in his 
voice, as he said: 

"Aha, Gertrude! You see? I guess there is a devil, 
after all. How what have you got to say to that? Don’t 
you believe it nowf* 

"Ho, I don't/' said Gertrude, emphatically. 

‘^hy ?” asked Dr. Malridge. 

^T)on’t you think God made everything?” asked Ger- 
truda 


Puzzling Questions. 325 

‘^Yes,” replied the doctor. 

^^And don^t you think God is everywhere?” 

^^Yes,” again replied the doctor. 

^^Well, if God is everywhere, in every little tiny place, 
and in everything, where is there a place for the devil 
to stay?” 

A shout from Harry and the colonel, and an explosion 
from the reception-room, broke up the discussion with the 
colonel’s asking: 

^^My dear friend, how do you feel now?” 

^^Oh, it’s impossible to talk to children on such mat- 
ters,” said the doctor, with a tinge of annoyance in his 
voice. 

^^Just so; rather puzzling, I admit. But here come 
I our friends. I’ll wager, for once, you are glad of an in- 
terruption,” laughed the colonel, and he turned to the new 
arrivals just in time to hear Miss Brandt say: 

^^Oh, we entered the reception-room just as Gertrude 
was diagnosing the colonel’s foot; and we could not re- 
frain from becoming eavesdroppers.” 

‘^And we feel we have been amply repaid for the breach 



‘^Therefore, we have no apology to make,” added Donald. 

^Gsn’t that little Gertrude a corker? By Jove! She 
is a wonder, don’t you know ?” said Bennie, with great ani- 
mation. 

^^As they say down south, I was ^powerful glad’ that I 
was not in Dr. Malridge’s shoes. I should certainly have 
beaten a retreat. He is a very brave man,” said Dick, as 
he ensconced himself in the corner of a luxurious divan, 
in his usually languid manner. 

At this moment, Mary and Charles entered, and very 
soon luncheon was announced; the colonel declaring his 


326 Mary Starkweather. 

thankfulness at being able to repair the waste tissue after 
this attack on their gray matter. 

All present were old friends, and Mirth and Jollity 
were the little gods that presided over that festal hour; 
and nothing of a serious turn was discussed. The only 
silent one was Harry. He could hardly restrain his im- 
patience until luncheon was finished. He was so pre- 
occupied, they dubbed him ^The Absent-Minded Beggar.^^ 

After luncheon, Mary went to the library with Harry. 
The rest of the party returned to the drawing-room. The 
conversation turned on the children. Nothing had been 
said about them during luncheon, as both were present. 

^^Gertrude is not a common child,” said Miss Stevens. 
^^She is phenomenal in her knowledge and way of think- 
ing.” 

‘^She is certainly a very unnatural child,” said Dr. 
Malridge. 

^^You say she is unnatural,” said General Starkweather, 
think I have seen the time when I would have said 
the same thing; but if you could hear the talk of these 
children, at times, as I have done, I think you would 
not only be amused, but your mind would be disabused 
of the idea of her being unnatural. She does not possess 
greater, possibly not so great, knowledge as he; but it is 
of a different kind. It is the mind differently directed and 
trained, that is all. She has been taught life and it’s 
influences, its every day aspects. Its practical side has 
been shown to her. It has been done by her parents who 
allow no one to instruct her but themselves. It has been 
principally by illustration, and made as attractive as pos- 
sible. There is not a thing that happens in her play with 
her pets, there is not a thing she sees in nature that has 
not its story to tell. It’s all very simple; but I admit it 
is unusual, and that is why you think it unnatural. 


Puzzling Questions. 327 

it is different with Carl. He has just as great 
a fund of information as she ; but it is of a. different kind. 
His mind is filled with fairy-stories, visionary, impossible 
things. Until I watched these children and heard them 
talk, I never realized what an amount of stuff nearly all 
children were allowed to learn — things that in the course 
of time they would be compelled to unlearn. At times, 
when they are together, it is like two persons each speak- 
ing a different language. When Carl begins to tell all 
his stories of The Arabian Nights, and about Jack the 
Giant-Killer, The Seven-Leagued Boots, Jack and the 
Beanstalk, Eed-riding Hood and the Wolf, Brer Babbit, 
and all the rest of the impossible and nonsensical stuff, 
Gertrude is mute. She does not understand it. 

^^With him, his intellectual and mind surroundings have 
been bad. If you see fit to study the wonderful drawing 
power of the mind, and apply it to Carl, you will then 
understand why he got the name of lad. The child was 
almost motherless. He was mischievous, and other peo- 
ple’s bad thoughts were continually operating on his life. 
He was an unhappy little fellow, and for that reason he 
attracted bad thoughts that, in time, would have infiuenced 
his whole life. He had learned to hate from not being 
properly treated. He is naturally warm-hearted and lov- 
able. The good is there, else he would not be so easily 
controlled. 

^^He has been with us about three days ; but it is marvel- 
ous what he has picked up already. He is inquisitive and 
"brainy’; and small as he is, he is very skeptical and 
doubting; and his little lip can curl, and he can show a 
world of cynicism in his voice; or, he can maintain a 
stoical silence that is eloquent. 

""Some of the things she says seem vague to him, but his 
heart has been stirred. There is already that dawning 


328 Mary Starkweather, 

of something within him; his mind is reaching out, and, 
little by little, he will gradually grow in another direc- 
tion. 

^^Now Gertrude is simply a fairy-like little girl, also a 
^brainy^ child; but her training has made her different. 
Then, take the matter of birth. There again she has had 
great advantages. Her parents are perfectly congenial. 
With them it is not only a union of hearts, but a union 
of pursuits and interests, There never has been the 
slightest discord between them. They are both optimistic, 
living the optimistic life and creating the optimistic at- 
mosphere. Gertrude was born with her face aglow. She 
is a beautiful child-soul for, this reason : She has a wonder- 
ful amount of self-control. I have never heard her cry 
a half dozen times in my life. Why, when Gertrude cries, 
we all look upon it as a real calamity ; and it surprises me, 
now, when I look back, to think how little I thought of 
the tears of childhood. I thought of them then merely 
as summer showers. She is never put off just because she 
is a child. Her parents are never too busy to answer her 
questions; if not at the moment, a note is made of them 
and she is answered later. They treat her as a companion 
and friend and she is encouraged to do her own thinking. 
They take pains to suggest things that develop this fac- 
ulty. She advances some droll ideas, at times, as all 
children do ; but they are never laughed at, but are weighed 
and considered so that she already begins to feel as if her 
opinions were of some consequence. 

“While not a sensitive-plant, she has very delicate tastes. 
She loves play, is a romp, and has a keen sense of the 
ridiculous, and enjoys a good laugh. But with all this, 
there is, at times, a desperate earnestness in her, for one so 
young. She has keen insight and a good deal of discrimi- 
nating power. She is made to know the difference between 


Puzzling Questions. 329 

truth and fiction. She has implicit confidence in her 
parents and in their judgment. And, as I said to begin 
i with, it is chiefly a matter of environment and educa- 
! tion.” 

j While the general had been talking, some street musi- 
il cians had been playing in front of the house ; the children 

I had given them some money and were dancing on the 
piazza. The musicians were now gone, and the children 
had resumed their play. Suddenly Gertrude’s laugh rang 
i out as only she could laugh. 

i ^‘Do hear that child laugh,” said the colonel. ‘^Was 
I there ever music sweeter than that ?” 

I 'T would give anything to hear what they are talking 
I about,” said Edith. 

^‘You can hear,” said the general, ‘fif you stand near 
the window.” 

I ■ In a moment there was a listening group inside. They 
I evidently had been saying something about thought; for 
j Gertrude said : 

held thoughts for you to come back, the other night, 
when your papa sent for you, so we could finish the house, 
you know. It was so beautiful that I wanted to finish 
it — and you did come back.” 

^^Well,” said Carl, was coming anyway.” 

^^Oh, you might not!” 

^^Yes, I was; for you remember your mamma said that 
papa said I could come back, and that papa was a gentle- 
man and would keep his word. So you see, I was sure 
to come back anyway, without the thoughts,” said the 
young skeptic. 

‘^Well, I held them just the same,” stoutly replied Ger- 
trude. 

"'"Thoughts ain’t things, anyway. You’re crazy. Any- 


330 Mary Starkweather. 

thing to be a thing, must be something you can look — look 
at, or — or feel; and you can’t feel or see a thought.” 

"Oh, Carl Burton, what a story! Can’t you feel your 
thoughts coming right up inside of you? I can.” 

"Well — well, suppose you can feel them, you can’t get 
hold of them, as you say, and hold them like this,” said 
Carl, opening and shutting his hand. "That’s silly.” 

"Well, perhaps you can’t hold them in your hand like 
that,” making the same motion with her hand, "but you 
know you have them. They’re all around you and all over 
you.” 

At this moment, the wind brought the strong scent from 
honeysuckles that were growing near. Gertrude noticed 
it and said: 

"There ! don’t you smell the perfume of the flowers ? 
It isn’t only on your face where your nose is. It’s all 
over you. If you had a nose in your feet you would smell 
the perfume on the floor. Now, don’t you understand, 
Carl? You have got to believe a few things you can’t 
catch hold of.” 

There was a suppressed chuckle inside the window. 

"Well, I don’t believe anything I can’t see,” said the 
rising agnostic. 

Another chuckle from Colonel Eversoll. 

"Oh, what a fib ! You do believe things you can’t see.” 

"No, I don’t,” said Carl, with emphasis. 

"I can prove it,” declared Gertrude. 

"Well, I’d like to see you do it. You can’t, you know 
you can’t.” 

"Do the flowers grow and bloom?” 

"Yes.” 

"Well, did you ever see a flower grow ? It does grow. I 
have watched and watched; but you can’t see it. The 
wind blows, but you can’t see it. There!” 


331 


Puzzling Questions. 

For a minute, Carl looked doubtful as she spoke of the 
flowers; but hope sprang up when she spoke of the wind, 
and he said triumphantly: 

^^Yes, I can, look in the trees and see it/’ 

^‘No, you can’t. You only see the leaves move and they 
speak and tell you that it blows. You feel it and your 
body tells you that it blows.” 

At this moment, Carl whacked his finger with a little 
hammer he was playing with. He dropped the hammer, 

! stuck his finger in his mouth to relieve the pain as he 
exclaimed : 

"That hurts!” 

"What hurts?” 

"The pain.” 

I "How do you know you have it? You can’t see it. 
Are you trying to taste it?” 

j Then both children laughed ; and there was silence for a 
i moment. Gertrude seemed to be thinking. Suddenly she 
j said : 

[ "But, Carl, everything is thought, sure enough. There 
I are two kinds of thoughts — God’s thought and people’s 
thought.” 

' "What do you mean — everything in the whole world?” 

; asked Carl, making a grand sweep with his arms. 

I "Yes, everything — every single thing.” 

"How can you prove it? I don’t believe you can.” 

"Well, now; first, God thought a world and trees and 
flowers and animals and fish, and then people.” 

"Gertrude Thornton, you’re — ^you’re crazy. You beat 
the band for saying crazy things. You’re a bluffer, you 
know you are. You don’t know what you’re talking 
about.” 

"Yes, I do. Now, you know our blocks here, and this 


332 


Mary Starkweather. 

floor and all the chairs and tables in the house were all 
trees once, weren’t they?” 

"Well, suppose they were? What has that got to do 
with it?” 

"Well, the trees were God’s thoughts and the other things 
were man’s thoughts.” 

"I don’t see how.” 

"Why, this way: Here are our blocks. Now, they are 
only blocks; but if some one doesn’t think a temple, they 
remain blocks. If you hadn’t thought a little wagon, yes- 
terday, and made it, it would still be just a piece of wood. 
So the wagon is Gail’s thought. See, Mr. Carl?” 

Just then Malcolm came round the house with a basket 
of cherries. Gertrude exclaimed: 

"Oh, Carl ! is your appetite hungry for cherries ?” And 
they pounced upon Malcolm who allowed them to help 
themselves. They sat down and began eating them. 

"See,” said Gertrude laughing; "we are eating God’s 
thoughts and Malcolm’s thoughts. God thought the 
cherries; Malcolm’s thought picked them and brought 
them to us.” 

Carl laughed and said: "Well, I like God’s thought, 
anyway.” 

Then they both laughed, and got into a tussle, pelting 
each other with cherries, and running and racing about* 
playing tag. 

The little group inside the window drew a long breath 
and laughed, and Edith said: 

"She is the queerest child I ever saw.” 

"How that is what I object to,” said Dr. Malridge. 
"How, see her running and flying about, and a minute 
ago she was preaching a sermon. She talks about these 
sacred things just as she talks about bread and butter and 
jam. There seems to be nothing held apart or sacred to 


Puzzling Questions. 333 

be talked about seriously and thoughtfully. The thought 
becomes too common.^’ 

“It struck me that there was a good deal of thought 
in her remarks,” said Miss Stevens. 

“If religion concerns our whole future life, as you claim 
it does, how can it become too common ?” asked the colonel. 

“As I said before,” remarked the general, “it is simply 
her birth and training. She was conceived and born with 
these thoughts. She breathed them with her first breath. 
She has been taught they are a thing to be lived, to regu- 
late every moment of life by.” 

But at this moment, Mary arrived to carry off the doc- 
tor, as she had promised the folk in the cottages that 
he would give them a little talk that afternoon. 


334 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE SERVICE IN THE TEMPLE. 

The next morning dawned cool and cloudless. But the 
sun did not appear. There was a peculiar atmospheric 
gray hanging over Willow Springs. The people began to 
arrive at an early hour for the service at Bethesda. They 
were met at the door, and ushered into the drawing-room 
by Malcolm. 

The majority came out of curiosity, and had laughed 
and jested on the way, and were ready to make light of 
everything. What was it in the atmosphere of the house 
that the moment they entered caused the jest and light, 
frivolous word and tone to die away ? There was nothing 
unusual in the appearance of the room. The lace cur- 
tains were drawn; but the windows were open to admit 
the breeze. Flowers in pots and vases bloomed every- 
where. There was perfect silence — not a sound to be heard 
in the house; and the slight noises from outside seemed 
far away and to be heard with no jarring sound. Those 
entering caught the silence the minute they crossed the 
threshold, and it held them mute. When all had arrived, 
the great doors between the drawing-room and temple 
were drawn back by Malcolm, who invited the guests to 
enter. 


335 


The Service in the Temple. 

Mrs. Grey and her husband were already there; also 
Mr. Solmon. Pansy Brandt sat near a small table that 
supported her elbow, her cheek resting on her hand. She 
was without a hat, and her golden hair was piled high on 
her shapely head in masses of waves and soft curling 
rings. She was gowned in pure white — a French crea- 
tion of chiifon. From her snowy neck to her dainty, white- 
slippered feet, it was a bewildering mass of tiny puffs, 
tucks, ruffles, and filmy lace. She looked like a small 
snowdrift tossed into the chair. Her large, liquid, brown 
eyes were veiled by their black lashes. She did not once lift 
them to recognize any one of those now entering. Beside 
her sat Edith and Miss Stevens. Well to the back of the 
room sat Mrs. Brandt. Carl and Gertrude were very 
near the dais, on a tiny divan. Four young girls about 
sixteen years of age, dressed in white organdy, with their 
hair braided and tied with white ribbon, acted as ushers. 

There were about fifty persons present. It seemed as 
if already some kind of a spell was woven around them. 
They took their seats in silence. The dim light glowed 
soft as moonbeams. It was augmented by the peculiar 
gray of the atmosphere without. We have all seen just 
such mornings. There were no clouds, no threat of rain 
nor storm — ^just an absence of the sun. But the pecul- 
iarity of the morning struck one with unusual force. It 
seemed as if the sun had withdrawn into the silence. 

There are times when no tongue that ever spoke, nor 
pen that ever wrote, can appeal to the soul and stir it to 
its profoundest depth as can the tones from the organ. 
In those vast churches and cathedrals there are moments 
where the notes from this mighty instrument are so 
majestic, so deep, so enthralling, that they seem to crush 
one with the weight of their own insignificance, and to 
cause one to feel they are but the merest speck in the 


336 Mary Starkweather. 

whole system of created things. The very notes with 
their sighs, throbs and plaints seem to hold a warning 
and to cry Yfoe, woe! They seem to tear open every 
wound, to disclose every suffering, and to reveal as in a 
vision, sights and sounds so far away. The ghostly forms 
of men and women hurrying to and fro bowed down by 
sin and sufferings, moaning vain, vain, vain! Again one 
seems to hear the dread roll of the dirge, and to see the 
funeral pall, the grave, the sepulcher, even the captive 
with his parched lips and rusty chains, and to hear his 
curses loud and deep. And in this night and mystery 
hot blinding tears fall like rain from eyes that long yet 
fail to catch a glimpse of light and glory, and the face of 
Him who stills all pain. 

But how different now! Suddenly to those sitting in 
the silence and twilight of the room, came the deepest, 
grandest flow of organ notes, growing stronger and more 
mighty and majestic until, as the great, library doors 
rolled back, it broke in a storm of melody, swelling louder 
and louder, higher and higher, filling and reverberating 
through space until the very air throbbed and trembled. 
It was like a mighty chain reaching to the dome of heaven 
with links forged from the mine of hope. Those listen- 
ing felt themselves lifted to mountain-tops sublime. It 
seemed a foretaste of heaven — as if earth’s bitterness had 
passed away. Then, lower and lower fell the notes, at 
last breaking into a trembling prelude, soft and low, and 
then, from that divine instrument, the human soul, there 
rose a voice so powerful, so rich, so sweet, that it seemed to 
penetrate the inmost recesses of life and thrill the hearts 
of the listeners. There was no strife in the music, no sug- 
gestion of wrong or woe. As the glorious melody arose 
and floated on the wings of song, it seemed only to breathe 
of hope and love. 


337 


The Service in the Temple. 

*^Why art thou cast down, 0 my soul?** 

As the heavenly melody died away, there was a subdued 
flash as of thought itself; and the incandescent lights 
began to glow and burn. Mary entered from the con- 
servatory and stepped upon the dais. Her gown of creamy 
crepe de chine clung to her figure and swept the floor. 
Her luxuriant hair was loosely brushed back from her 
face. As she stood there, she seemed inwardly as well as 
outwardly illumined. Her very countenance seemed to 
emit light, so truly did her soul shine through. Every 
sound was hushed, and every one became intent to catch 
the first tones of her magnificent voice. Her eyes dwelt 
on those present for a brief moment. Then she said: 

^^e will now have a few moments’ meditation.” 

She clasped her hands and bowed her head. Again the 
organ breathed forth in minor chords. When it died 
away, Mary lifted her head and began speaking. Her 
voice was low and sweet, but clear and distinct, and thrill- 
ing with intense earnestness. There was no waving of 
the arms, nor striving for elocutionary effect : 

*'We have gathered here this morning to speaTc the 
Word that heals and maJces glad — the Word of Truth 
and Love. We have with us some who are strangers to 
our methods. They ash what is our creed. In the com- 
mon acceptance of the word we have none. We open 
our hearts to Truth and welcome it from whatever quar- 
ter it may come. At the present day we find ourselves 
in the midst of a mighty revolution of human thought. 
The people are speaking with new tongues and singing 
the new songs according to the promises. Time-honored 
creeds are losing their hold upon men. Truth is all 
there is. We believe in the broadest altruism; a brother- 
hood of humanity. We believe in the highest spiritual 


338 Mary Starkweather. 

activity, and in not 'permitting outside control from any 
source 'whatever. We believe in the sublime powers resi- 
dent within the Ego until it shall become as a god, thus 
being able to control elemental forces. We believe that 
Knowledge is Power. In other words, to believe with- 
out knowledge, is weakness; to believe because one knows, 
is power. We believe there is no impossibility to him 
who wills. To this end we study the hidden mysteries 
of nature and the physic powers latent in man. To do 
this, purity of thought, purity of word, and purity of 
deed are essential. This philosophy is rapidly infiltrat- 
ing the minds of the people. Each man is to himself, 
absolutely, the Way, the Truths and the Life. The gifts 
of healing are bestowed by Divine Beneficence with a 
liberal hand, and they cannot be monopolized by any 
sect or church. I desire to say to my friends that are 
here to receive the Word of Healing, to remember that 
Christ said that 'Where two or three are gathered to- 
gether in my name I will grant their request.* 

"We will now ask, in His name, that all those here 
afflicted be healed. Sometimes we have a miracle in 
healing, when people are instantly cured; again, a num- 
ber of treatments are necessary before a cure is perfected. 
Should any one not be cured at once, he must not be dis- 
couraged. Remember, that 'All things are possible to 
him that believethf ** 

Mary folded her hands on her breast for a moment, then 
stretching them forth as if in benediction, said : 

^^Divine Love fills you.** 

She held her hands extended for an instant, then fold- 
ing them again on her breast, she said as she bowed her 
head: 

^^We will now retire into the silence.’^ 

As Mary ceased speaking, the organ seemed to sigh; 
and a strange, musical sound swept through the room, 


339 


The Service in the Temple. 

vibrating and breaking into a plaintive, moaning cry. The 
silence became intense. The very birds in their cages, 
the water in the fountain, seemed to stop and listen. A 
weird sensation seemed to come over every one. 

There were p'^rsons there who believed in nothing that 
was done ; yet they were thrilled by the beauty of it. The 
wailing of the music was evidently intended to suggest 
that from sorrow comes joy; for it suddenly changed to a 
glad anthem ringing out, accompanied by many voices. 
It came in a rapturous shout, growing gladder and glad- 
der, more and more triumphant. 

*'8ing praises to God, sing praises. Sing praises unto 
our King. Sing praises T 

There was a pause in the music. It dropped into a low 
recitative. Mary took it up and raising her eyes heaven- 
ward, stretched forth her hand and intoned with intensest 
feeling : 

^'TrutKs eternal. Truth’s eternal.” 

Then again the voices : 

"'For God is the King of all the earth. Sing praises 
with understanding.” 

Again came Mary’s voice: "Truth’s eternal. Truth’s 
eternal.” 

As Mary intoned these words, she stepped down from 
the dais and again stretched forth her hands; her face 
was illumined from the glowing lights; she seemed, for 
a moment, transfigured. Then a strange thing happened, 
as she stood there. A golden circle like a halo appeared 
just above her head. For a brief instant it was supposed 
to be some mechanical device; but glancing up it was seen 
to be the sun breaking through the dim sky and striking 
the stained glass window ; the light so falling on the halo 
over the head of Christ that it reflected the golden light 
with all its prisms over the head of Mary. It was a 


340 


Mary Starkweather. 

strange coincidence; and it would be impossible to de- 
scribe the sensation that it caused. Every one was startled, 
and at this moment no miracle would have surprised them. 

Again the music swept through space, accompanied by 
the voices of children only: 

^^Then awaken, then awaken. Let glad voices loud 
proclaim !” 

It seemed as if a thousand harps could he seen glinting 
in the sun and angel hands rejoicing. 

Again the organ thundered forth the proclamation, ac- 
companied hy all the voices in a glad, triumphant chorus : 

''Trutlis eternal. Truth's eternal. Truth forevermore 
shall reign!" 

With rapt face and dilating eyes Pansy had listened to 
every word Mary uttered. Then, as the organ broke into 
a wail, it seemed for a moment as if her heart would 
burst. But, as the notes died away and rang out again 
in praise and promise, she repeated to herself ^Whatso- 
ever ye ask in my name I will grant.'’ ” 

Oh, how she prayed ! Mary’s voice thrilled her with the 
words, ^'Truth's eternal. Truth's eternal.'" Then the 
promise was surely true now. She closed her eyes, and a 
great light seemed to hover over her, and it seemed that 
she saw, for an instant, the face of Him who said: 

‘^All things are possible to him that helieveth.” 

She opened her eyes just as the entire chorus took up 
the last refrain, and at the words, '"Truth forevermore 
shall reign," a great strength came to her and rising, she 
exclaimed in a wildly sweet voice as she stretched her arms 
toward Mary: 

do believe, I do believe!” 

Mary held out her arms. 

"Come," she said. And in an instant Pansy’s golden 
head was pillowed on Mary’s bosom. 


The Service in the Temple. 341 

Who can analyze the feelings of those present? Their 
pulses quickened and leaped; it seemed as if the very 
heavens had opened and revealed a glimpse from afar. 
The soul was ravished with joy. 

The little audience filed out silently, and wended their 
way back to Willowby Rest. 

Bennie, Dick, Donald and Norwood Brinsley walked 
together. They had gone some distance in silence, when 
Donald drew a long breath, and said: 

^^ell, what did you think of it?’^ 

^^DonT ask me,” said Dick. ‘Tm dumb. I give it up 
on the spot.” 

^^Do you suppose Pansy is really cured?” asked Bennie. 

'^God knows; but I pray she is,” said Donald fervently. 
never witnessed anything that affected me so much. 
And Colonel Eversoll — did you see him? His eyes were 
streaming.” 

^^WasnT it solemn?” said Bennie. ‘^Maybe il was fancy; 
but it seemed to me the very heavens above were solemn. 
I don’t know a deuced thing about it, by Jove! But it 
made me feel awfully queer — ^’pon honnah.” 

I looked at Mrs. Thornton, to-day,” said Norwood 
Brinsley meditatively, realized, for the first time, what 
that light was that never was on land or sea. It was in 
her face. I never heard so few remarks with so much in 
them. It was multum in parvo. I felt, as I listened, that 
she was dropping apples of gold from pitchers of silver. 
I never heard such an impressive voice. The whole scene 
was purity itself. It will linger with me always.” 

As he finished speaking, they reached the springs and 
stopped for a drink of the water. Three or four carriages 
containing some of those that had attended the service, 
were drawn up, waiting for the water to be served to them. 


342 Mary Starkweather. 

They had recovered their voices and were talking and dis- 
cussing the affair freely. On all sides one heard such ex- 
pressions and comments as follows: 

^Tt’s all pure delusion/^ said one. 

^^This sort of thing is a kind of religious delirium 
tremens/^ from another. 

hate what is called an enterprising woman/^ said 
Sidley. ^^Save me from blue-stockingism, or anything 
that savors of it.^’ 

^^She causes a wonderful struggle between the head and 
the heart,” said an elderly gentleman with a kindly voice. 
^^You nearly lose your reasoning power as you look at her, 
she is so sincere. I think the secret of her success is 
because her soul is in it.” 

^^You are quite right. There is a subtle something 
about her very convincing,” said a dainty little lady in 
reply. ^^Her smile seems to lead you on.” 

beautiful smile is a wonderful factor in this kind 
of work,” said a Mrs. Eoland. “The Salvation Army 
women know the value of it.” 

“Her thoughts are like her face — pure,” said Brinsley. 
“The angels that make music around the Great White 
Throne might read them.” 

“Hear him, ye gods and little fishes!” exclaimed a 
fashionable, tailor-made gentleman, with a fierce mustache. 

At this moment, Horace Burt rose and holding up his 
glass of water, exclaimed: 

“All you have to do is to think this is nectar — and 
there you are! There’s nothing but Mind, you know.” 

“What are you thinking about, Mabel? Haven’t you 
an opinion on the subject?” exclaimed one of the ladies. 
This was addressed to an exquisitely gowned woman, with 
a superb form, who occupied an elegant victoria, and leaned 
indolently back among the cushions casting languorous 


343 


The Service in the Temple. 

glances and smiles at the men. She was a widow and a 
power socially. She wielded a mighty scepter among her 
friends. She was particularly fond of Norwood Brinsley; 
their names had been coupled together upon more than 
one occasion. He now stood leaning against the side of 
her victoria. Her lip curled when he had spoken a moment 
previous of Mary; and it was with ill-concealed scorn and 
contempt she now replied: 

^^Oh, it was a great act — very effectively gotten up ; more 
dramatic than heavenly though. How she could make up 
her mind to get herself up in that style, and come out 
before all her society friends, and make such an exhibi- 
tion of herself, is more than I can see. It must have re- 
quired a good deal of nerve.'’^ 

As she said this, she looked straight into Brinsley’s 
face. He flushed slightly as he replied: 

^^Nearly as much nerve as was required by our society 
ladies who gave skirt-dances before all their society friends 
and posed for Greek statuary with scanty raiment. It 
was a marvelous triumph of grace and very artistic, I 
admit ; but there was no special imprint of heaven on the 
act.” 

The lady in the carriage turned white with rage; for 
although Brinsley had spoken in a gay, bantering tone, 
there was no mistaking his covert sarcasm. 

^^Mrs. Thornton has made one convert already,” hastily 
excaimed some one, trying to cover up the embarrassment 
caused by Brinsley’s remark. ^^Our old and valued friend 
has become a disciple — is it not so. Brother Brinsley ?” 

^^Not exactly. They say it’s never too late to mend. 
But at my time of life, to learn to mend, is — well — I’ll 
explain later,” laughed Brinsley, as he lifted his hat, 
bowed and took his leave, accompanied by his three com- 
panions. 


344 


Mary Starkweather. 

As they disappeared, another chorus of voices exclaimed : 

‘'^The idea of ISTorwood Brinsley talking about the beauty 
of holiness.” 

^^Oh, it’s only a spasm. He is of the earth, earthy. 
Brinsley is getting in his dotage,” said Horace Burt. 

And first one carriage, and then another, began to move 
toward the hotel. But my lady of the victoria could have 
strangled Brinsley with good grace. 

As the four gentlemen moved away, Bennie said: 

‘^How those women talk about Mrs. Thornton!” 

“What do they know of a soul like hers?” said Dick. 
“No matter what this thing is she is trying to do — God 
knows, I don’t know an3rthing about it — ^but I do know 
she is honest in whatever she does. And I thank you, 
Brinsley, for the stab you gave. I rather think it went 
home.” 

“It was cruelly severe, I admit. But I could not help 
it. We have all seen that woman, with others, dance the 
skirt-dance with languorous eyes and sensuous movements 
— very beautiful^ but not a particularly healthy picture. 
After looking at it, you do not feel benefited morally nor 
intellectually. It did not give rest and inspiration for 
higher and better things, but instead, there came a sicken- 
ing feeling and a contempt for human nature. Instead 
of leaving this artistic exhibition with regret, you rush 
out into the air and feel glad to get away. I could never 
conceive of Mary Thornton giving a skirt-dance or posing 
for scantily-draped statuary. To contrast these two women 
is like comparing the nude chastity of Godivia to the 
nakedness of Nana.” 

Norwood Brinsley was far from spotless; but he had not 
become so blinded and dazzled by the brightness of wealth 
and fashion that he had no perception of the good and true. 

The next morning, Mary received a package, by mail. 


345 


The Service in the Temple. 

containing six five-hundred dollar bills bound together by 
a strip of paper, on which was scrawled in a disguised 
hand : ‘^For the Cottagers.” 

The people that had chattered at the springs only com- 
prised a small portion of those that had been present at the 
service, and many were deeply impressed by it, and re- 
turned from it in a very subdued and thoughtful mood. 


346 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 

SHE WILL DO WHAT HER HANDS FIND TO DO. 

To SEE the young people that flocked to Judge Thorn- 
ton’s, one would have thought it was a Mecca for which 
they had long sighed. They were subjects of study to 
Mary. She especially loved Edith. She watched her, 
and saw the terrible unrest and longing, and felt it was 
soul starvation ; that in the wine of life she was drinking, 
she found the lees; that it was spiritual food she needed 
to bring to the surface the dormant life that Mary felt 
was slumbering in her. Edith was wondrously beautiful, 
and a great belle. She had marvellous power, and it 
grieved Mary to hear the hard, cynical tones of her voice 
and the sharp, keen, scathing sarcasm of her words, and to 
see her indifference as to whom she offended. Her very 
laugh, at times, was discordant. Mary knew something of 
the cause of the broken engagement with the English duke. 
She knew that when Edith was growing up, she had been 
warm-hearted and impulsive, and she would not believe 
those impulses were dead. She felt that her present state 
was due to the life she was leading. 

And Dick — what a glowing, glorious, promising boy he 
was ! How often Dick and his sister would come to spend 


Do What Her Hands Find to Do, 347 

a week at Mabelthorp, and they, with herself and Hugh, 
had romped and rowed and fished together. And now, he 
was dull, apathetic and listless. And so, in this set in 
which she moved were many that she knew intimately, of 
whom Edith and Dick were examples — ^people with hun- 
dreds of thousands of dollars — yea, millions at their com- 
mand; who could come and go and do as they pleased; 
who were looked upon with envy, courted and pampered; 
and yet were bearing a great unrest, carrying a lifelong 
hunger in their hearts. 

Many a millionaire standing at his window, watching 
the busy throng, and seeing the ordinary business man 
hurrying to his daily routine, has wondered if in his breast 
there was the same longing as in his own. If he could but 
have known the truth, he would have found it was there; 
because it is everywhere — not always exactly the same 
kind of unrest, but an unrest, a ^^dis-ease,’^ an absence of 
ease, that comes to every soul, high or low, in this world, 
that is not stimulated and upheld by something higher 
than mere personal, physical, or business pursuits of life. 
Mary frequently heard the rich maligned for lack of 
soul, for love of money, and society for its indifference to 
humanity’s needs, and lack of spirituality. Then she 
looked at the thousands of men with small bank accounts, 
their hearts filled with bitterness, envy, and ambition for 
wealth, the pettiness of money-getting, the strife for pre- 
ferment; the trickery and fraud. Could this class, whose 
souls turned on the axis of money-getting, develop spir- 
ituality more rapidly than the independently rich? Does 
it usually hear or heed the plaints of the suffering more 
quickly than the society devotee ? Then among the lowly, 
deadly-suffering poor: Can they develop real spirituality 
under their fearful environment, their bitter strife for 
existence? They are struggling and fighting for bread. 


348 Mary Starkweather 

The great aim in life, high or low, seems to he to con- 
quer; and this aim crushes the loftiness of soul in either 
life. Society with its ambitions and its frivolities is not 
worse than love of gain. 

Mary felt and saw all this. She knew, go where she 
would, she would find similar c.onditions. Environment 
made the principal difference. This being so, should she 
not do what her hands found to do — and do among those 
she knew and loved and understood? She knew the great 
mines of soul-wealth and latent energy that were buried 
under the debris of society and conventional forms and 
ceremonies. Could she be instrumental in sinking a 
shaft to the heart of this society, in which she moved, or 
tunnel into its dormant inactivities and impulses? She 
did not say, will see. I will try.^^ But, on the con- 
trary, she said: can and I will.’’ 

Was Mary right in her estimate of those among whom 
she had always lived? Would her attempts by deed and 
word to act upon her convictions end in dreams, or would 
they develop certainties for lasting good? Time alone 
would tell. But back of her efforts, was that firm belief 
in Infinite Good. The great principles of Truth were 
perpetually in her heart; and, they daily reinforced her 
resolve to carry out her convictions. 

Good thought never fails in its mission ; and just as the 
sunlight influences vegetation, so Mary’s life and pur- 
suits were infiuencing those around her. It is a strange, 
though demonstrated fact, that in these days her swiftly 
traveling mind and life and soul were beginning to pene- 
trate and shine into these socially sick and diseased bodies, 
transferring to them a wholly irresistible, life-giving 
power, not as yet fully realized by herself. There was 
nothing dwarfed about her. Her life was full of inspira- 
tion — nothing spasmodic. She was loving and courageous. 


Do What Her Hands Find to Do. 349 

She knew all she was facing in thus openly taking this 
step. She knew the prejudice, the scoffing, with which 
she would be assailed; but her unwavering faith in the 
principles for which she stood was unbounded. Almost 
unconsciously those that knew and loved her were waking 
up, gradually, to those same principles. Many of these 
people would grow strong and healthy. The bandages of 
conventionalism once torn away, it would be difficult to 
relapse into contentment or to find happiness in their 
former pursuits. 

Mary was not a society destroyer; far from it. She be- 
lieved in society; that it should and did have its claims. 
But she felt that an equilibrium should he maintained; 
that while society was important, it should not be om- 
nipotent. She felt that purely social pursuits were sure 
to bring unrest, discontent, and disenchantment to life. 
Therefore it should be held more as a recreation than a 
pursuit. She felt that the servitude, the vassalage to 
empty form and vain pursuits should end; that the true 
domain of society should he to uplift, exalt and stimulate. 


% 


350 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

MKS. BURTON. 

When Carl had been with Mary three or four days, 
every one was remarking upon the wonderful change there 
was in him. It was not so. Carl, as yet, had changed but 
little. It is true he seemed to be very unlike his former 
self; but it was chiefly for the reason that the principal 
causes of his troubles were removed; and he was in an 
entirely different atmosphere. As Carl put it, there were 
‘^no bothers at J udge Thornton’s.” It is true he still made 
mistakes, but no more than all healthy, well-regulated 
boys are liable to make. Mary had dispensed with Fanny, 
and her maid looked after Carl. For the first time in his 
life he was given real opportunity, and was intelligently 
instructed. There are people that would rather have their 
homes in perfect order than their children happy. Not so 
with Mary. There was no place prohibited to the chil- 
dren. They were allowed to play wherever they liked about 
the house. Nothing was forbidden, and Charles, General 
Starkweather, and Mary were always ready to answer ques- 
tions. All this was new to Carl. He had been forbidden to 
touch this or that article; not allowed to handle certain 
books or to go into certain rooms. He always had been 


Mrs. Burton. 


351 


limited. As a consequence, the things forbidden were 
just the things he wanted to do. When told not to handle 
or touch a certain thing, he was possessed to do so, with 
the result that from nervousness or over-anxiety in hand- 
ling a forbidden thing, if it was perishable, he was pretty 
sure to wreck it; for which he was punished. If he went 
to his mother^s room, both she and the nurses were so sure 
that he was going to do something to upset his mother’s 
nerves, that he rarely failed to fulfill their predictions; 
and he was usually sent away in disgrace. 

It was all different here, and it seemed very wonderful 
to Carl to be able to go about without restraint; to feel 
that he could touch and handle things and ask questions. 
He was naturally intuitive and quick. He was fearless 
and would fight where force was used, never yielding un- 
til overpowered, and then he was not conquered, but sul- 
lenly submissive. How, he was perfectly happy and was 
as wax in the hands of Mary, whom he loved devotedly. 

Several notes had passed between Mary and Mr. Bur- 
ton to the effect that Carl was to remain with Mary for 
the present, or until Mrs. Burton’s health improved. 

When the new nurse appeared, Mr. Burton was some- 
what disappointment. She was an old maid, a Miss Lee. 
She brought the best recommendations as to character and 
ability; but she was so strikingly plain that she never 
would appeal to any one from a physical standpoint. She 
was tall and angular. Hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes were 
a regular straw color. Her mouth was large; her com- 
plexion fiorid, her nose rather large, and her chin promi- 
nent. Her redeeming features were fine teeth, mild eyes, 
gentle voice, and robust health. These features were so 
overshadowed by her other defects that Mr. Burton did 
not notice them, and made up his mind to send her back 
to the city. Then he concluded to consult Mrs. Thornton, 


352 ' Mary Starkweather. 

to whom he sent her. She very soon returned with a note, 
that was as follows: 

feel sure she will do. She is undoubtedly capable. — 
Mary Thornton.” 

Mr. Burton paid Fanny a week^s wages, and dismissed 
her, much to that young woman’s chagrin. He sent for 
Carl, and gave Miss Lee her instructions in his presence. 
Then he told her that she was to return to Mrs. Thorn- 
ton’s and be entirely under her command for the present. 

He told Carl that he was to call Miss Lee his gov- 
erness; for he was too big, now, to have a nurse. This 
information, coming with a suspension of whippings, made 
Carl feel quite grown up. He did not fancy this new in- 
vasion, and scrutinized her critically; but anything or 
anybody was better than Fanny, whom Carl hated. Mary 
was very much amused when Carl asked Gertrude if she 
believed* God made everything, and, on receiving an af- 
firmative answer, to hear him reply: 

^^Well, I think God must have been in the funny busi- 
ness when he made my new governess.” 

Mary made a real study of Carl, and talked much to 
the new governess about him. She was very intelligent, 
great-hearted, and a lovable woman. She was fond of chil- 
dren, and her heart went out to this almost motherless 
boy; and she took every pains to win his confidence and 
affection, with the result that before two weeks were over 
Carl was ready to fight anything or anybody that said 
anything against, or called his new governess ugly. In 
her great tenderness and love for him, she had grown to 
be quite a beauty in his eyes. 

Every day she took the children to see Mrs. Burton. 
They always brought her something, a new flower, some 
fruit, or a book or picture, and Miss Lee and Mary became 
quite absorbed in thinking of new and interesting objects 


Mrs. Burton. 


353 


to send to Mrs. Burton. These little matters v/ere dis- 
cussed before the children, and Carl and Gertrude were 
constantly on the lookout for something to carry to her. 
It is marvelous how quickly an intelligent child can be 
trained; how speedily the current of their lives can be 
changed. Carl began to look forward to his visits to his 
mother, and to feel that he must not go without taking her 
something, or doing something for her to entertain her 
while there. On their first visit to Mrs. Burton, before 
Miss Lee came, Mary had given explicit instructions to 
Gertrude as to how she must conduct herself in Mrs. Bur- 
ton’s room, so that she might not annoy her. Carl stood 
by and listened and profited, as Mary had intended he 
should. 

Gertrude, on her first visit, was dressed in her daintiest 
and most ^Tetching” gown; and she cam.e as a little sun- 
beam into the sick woman’s life. And Carl — what had 
come over Carl ? While he was in the room, he was quite 
subdued. He did not once stumble over anything, nor 
shake nor strike her couch, even when he came and leaned 
against it. 

Once he put out his little hand, and taking one of the 
jetty curls in his fingers, and holding it up, he said to 
Gertrude : 

Aren’t they pretty?” 

^^Yes, they are beautiful. And your mmama is beau- 
tiful, just like you said she was,” said Gertrude, with 
naive simplicity. 

^^Did Carl say that?” exclaimed Mrs. Burton, a lovely 
pink flush coming into her face. 

"Oh, yes! he said you was awful pretty, and it’s true, 
too,” said Gertrude, gazing admiringly on the dainty little 
woman. 

Could any compliment have been greater or more sin- 


354 Mary Starkweather. 

cere? She flushed with pleasure, and reaching out her 
arm, she drew Carl to her and kissed him impulsively and 
tenderly. There was a great difference between this caress 
and the perfunctory, refrigerated kisses he had been in the 
habit of receiving. Carl felt it, and his eyes gleamed. 
The dear litle soul was thrilled by it. It was his mother, 
and she had kissed him, as Gertrude’s mother kissed her; 
and while nothing had been said to him, he felt it was 
because he had been gentle and had pleased her; and he 
remembered the pain when he hurt himself and wondered 
if she hurt like that all the time, and began to think about 
it, which he had never done before ; and to wish he could 
do something for her. Thus, his mind began to work, 
to reach out, to awaken to a true consciousness of his sur- 
roundings. 

Mrs. Burton was affected by it also. She never sup- 
posed Carl thought of her when he was out of her sight. 
And now, to have this graceful tribute of his thought and 
admiration come to her, was a great surprise and also 
very sweet. And again the memory brought a flush of 
pleasure. 

Every day, Mary with Miss Lee and Gertrude, would 
have a chat with Carl about his mother, and encourage 
and assist all his plans in carrying comfort and pleasure 
to her. And the result was quickly apparent. 

Mrs. Burton soon began to look forward and to become 
impatient for the daily visits of the children, and to ig- 
nore or make excuses for them if they became a little 
noisy or too merry. In fact. Dr. Cline had declared, of 
late, that her rapid recovery was far exceeding his most 
sanguine expectations, and to give it as his opinion that 
she would, in time, become entirely well. He said her 
vitality had renewed itself, her neiwes were growing 
stronger. And she began to move about as she had not 


Mrs Burton. 


355 


been able to do so since the accident. He congratulated her, 
and encouraged her in every way. Every hopeful word 
the doctor uttered was like wine to the sick woman. He 
had anticipated that she would get much better, but he had 
not hoped for perfect recovery. Now, he not only hoped, 
but felt sure in his heart she would entirely recover; and 
so, told everybody that it was only a question of time be- 
fore she would be perfectly well. It made a new man 
of Mr. Burton. Every day the new hope kept singing in 
his heart that she would get well. Thus, every one in 
thinking of her thought only of her returning health. And 
there is no power like living thought. Nothing can equal 
it. Set a number of minds thinking in the same current, 
and watch the result. That is why prayer is all-powerful. 
True prayer is the quintessence of thought. To pray is 
to breathe power, to generate force. That is why we are 
enjoined to pray without ceasing. To fill the soul with 
eternal prayer is to fill it with eternal force. When a man 
prays truly and honestly, his heart is filled with love, with 
hope, with justice, and sweet charity. These attributes 
breathed forth in prayer, if rightly understood and united 
in by all peoples, would move the world with an energy 
that would excel all other forces combined, and wholly 
revolutionize our lives. 


356 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

MARY TRIES TO AWAKEN DICK. 

^'Liberty Hall” might have been carved over the door 
of Bethesda. For that is just what it was. Every one 
was welcome, especially Mary’s friends and acquaintances. 
Dr. Malridge, Colonel Eversoll, Harry, Dick, Bennie, and 
Donald were perfectly at home there, and came and went 
at their pleasure without form or ceremony. Also a 
number of ladies, young and old, including the Brandts 
and Miss Stevens. They had all been more or less im- 
pressed by Mary’s words, her home, and her pursuits. 
She was a prime favorite with all of them. They did not 
understand her methods; therefore, as they were too fond 
of her to criticize, they said nothing. One morning, a 
few days after the service in the temple, Dick, Donald and 
Bennie were lounging in the Bethesda library, reading. 

Mary, Edith and Miss Stevens came in, which roused 
the gentlemen from their papers and books. They were 
all on familiar terms, and in a jolly, delightful, banter- 
ing mood. And it soon became a very gay party. Many 
subjects were chatted over, but nothing of a religious or 
philanthropic turn until Bennie and Donald got into a 
dispute, and made a wager; when Bennie declaring he 
was 'T)roke,’’ laughingly turned to Edith and said: 


Mary Tries to Awaken Dick. 357 

see you have your purse, Miss Brandt. Please be 
my banker.” 

don’t call upon me!” exclaimed Edith. “I’m in 
the same fix. I emptied my purse into the hands of a 
beggar just before I came in.” 

“And consequently haven’t even a penny for poor me 
whom you have known all your life. It’s all right if I 
go hungry,” said Bennie assuming a grieved expression. 

“A little starving would do you good — ^teach you hu- 
mility,” laughed Edith. 

“Oh, I felt awfully sorry for that man,” said Miss Ste- 
vens, referring to the beggar. “You know he didn’t look 
like a beggar, and he blushed when he asked for alms, and 
actually wanted to return part of the money Edith gave 
him.” 

‘^^here is he ? Where is he ?” excitedly exclaimed 
Donald, springing up. “For a long time I have been 
wanting some soft easy snap by which I could make a lot 
of money. I can make my fortune just showing him as a 
curiosity — a beggar freak.” 

“Yes,” drawled Dick, who was lazily half reclining on a 
divan. “That was a clever trick in him, wasn’t it ? 
These fellows know how to get on the right side of the 
ladies. You will empty your purse again in his hands 
the next time you meet him, won’t you? These human 
parasites that live off the rich, ought to be banished from 
the earth. Mrs. Thornton, can’t you suggest some stray 
planet that we might transport them to?” 

Mary made no reply, and Edith remarked: 

“Well, I don’t think the poor affect the lotus-eaters, and 
I believe that is your normal diet, is it not?” 

“How severe!” said Dick languidly. “There is where 
you are mistaken. Could you see the letters to my agent, 
and read how these parasites grumble at the rents and 


358 Mary Starkweather. 

rebel at paying, after your letting them have a home to 
live in, to keep them out of the street ! It’s awful. They 
have no sense of what you do for them.” 

When Dick drawled out the last sentence, Mary who 
had been sitting with her arm resting on the table, toying 
with her fan, looked up, and for the life of you, you could 
not have told whether she was going to laugh or cry. 
Every eye was turned toward her. They waited an instant 
for her to speak. Then Dick continued: 

“Don’t you think I am right, Mrs. Thornton ?” 

“Do you really want my opinion?” she asked. 

“I certainly do,” said Dick with a trifle more animation 
than usual. 

“Are the poor parasites on the rich? Stop and think. 
You own a number of blocks of houses down in the tene- 
ment district of the city. These are a large source of 
income to you. The tenants toil and sweat to earn the 
dollars to give to you. And what are they getting in 
return? Not even a healthful place to live in — crowded, 
unkept, unhealthy; and when they cannot pay the rent 
they are turned out. For you must have money to live 
on. They must pay. Parasites?’ Are they keeping you 
or you them? They give you clean money that you in 
your fastidiousness can use. You give them houses, 
through an unscrupulous agent, that are not fit to live 
in. They are frequently death-traps. Little or nothing 
is done for comfort or to insure safety in case of Are. 
You are insured in a big company. Should your houses 
burn up and destroy half the lives in them or the tenant’s 
property, they lose, not you. So far as the value is con- 
cerned, you are all right, and their money pays for your 
insurance. But they are not insured. You oftn rebuild 
again; but they will have nothing. You never go near 
to look after them yourself. If their houses were health- 


359 


Mary Tries to Awaken Dick. 

ful, and not over-crowded, then the obligation would be 
mntnal. As it is, it’s very one-sided. Think about it, 
Dick; think about it,” said Mary, rising. "And now I 
am going to ask you to excuse me as I have some duties 
to attend to. I shall expect you all to remain to luncheon.” 

And she left the room without any apology for her plain 
speech. No one spoke for a minute. Then Edith laughed 
and said: 

"Well, you asked for Mrs. Thornton’s opinion. What do 
you think of it?” 

"By Jove! I don’t know but what there is some truth 
in it,” said Dick with considerable animation for him. 
"There is one thing about it. She is not afraid, and when- 
ever she speaks, she says something. Her advice to think 
about it is good. I will think about it,” laughed he 
lightly as he rose and commenced sauntering listlessly 
about the room. 

"Do you know,” said Bennie, "Mrs. Thornton affects 
me strangely. Most people, when they get to talking 
about charity and religion and things make me feel as if 
I were of no account — too small and too insignificant for 
anything ; and I always want to get away. But she always 
makes me feel as if I were six feet tall, and as strong as a 
giant. I feel as if I wanted to start right out and ac- 
complish something great; and I have to go and look at 
myself in the glass before I can realize I am not all that 
I feel,” finished Bennie gaily, as he moved over to a 
large mirror and surveyed himself. Then, turning and 
making a sweeping bow, he said: "There, now! I am 
convinced I am only fiittle Bennie Gordon.’ ” 

"Did you ever notice what a beautiful color comes into 
her face when she gets in earnest?” asked Donald. 

"That’s because she feels all she says,” replied Miss 
Stevens. 


360 Mary Starkweather. 

would give the world to be all that I believe her to 
be/’ said Edith, gazing dreamily out of the window. 

The three gentlemen looked at her, and then glanced at 
one another. Miss Edith Brandt — an heiress, beautiful, 
brilliant, a belle of the smart set of New York, to make 
such a wish. 

^Tt’s a woman’s caprice,” thought Donald. 

^^She wouldn’t if she could,” thought Dick. 

But Bennie said aloud: ^‘^To use little Carl Burton’s 
expression, ^She’s a dream.’ I never can see enough of 
her. I wish she wouldn’t run away. How I wish I could 
understand what she said the other day, about atmosphere. 
It was awfully queer and mystifying, don’t you know. 
Every time I see Carl Burton I envy the little rascal — I 
do, ’pon honnah — ^because he can stay here all the time.” 

^‘^Dear little Bennie !” laughed Edith ; ^‘it’s a good thing 
you can’t. We can’t afford to lose you ; and if you remained 
here you would soon grow so big, in feeling, you would 
fancy yourself the President of the United States.” 

At this moment the butler announced luncheon: and 
they adjourned to the dining-room. 


Colonel Brandt’s Family. 


361 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

COLONEL Brandt’s family. 

Pansy Brandt had not used her crutches since the 
eventful morning when she had walked to Mary. Mrs. 
Brandt was overjoyed. She could not understand it; 
but the fact that although Pansy was still weak, she could 
dispense with those awful, disfiguring crutches, and move 
about filled her with happiness; and she cared for little 
else. She was little interested in the cause so long as 
the facts remained. Colonel Brandt had been called to 
the Pacific Coast, and he only knew from telegrams that 
Pansy was better, and, like his wife, that was sufficient 
for him. 

Not so with Edith. She had been deeply impressed. 
It had been only about ten days since Mary had arrived at 
the Springs; but in that time Edith had heard more 
strange and peculiar things than in all her life previous. 
She did not know what to make of it. She had gone to 
Sunday-school, when a child, and when old enough, had 
been confirmed. She always had attended church, but she 
knew nothing of religion outside of it. She never had 
heard religion or the Bible discussed. The Sunday after- 
noon at Willowby Rest was a revelation to her, and had set 


362 Mary Starkweather. 

her thinking deeply on religious subjects. Then, she dis- 
covered that Isabel had made a study of the Bible, and 
was interested in Mary’s line of work, and seemed to un- 
derstand it. The cure of Colonel Eversoll and little Kuth 
had filled her with hope for Pansy ; and she had shut herself 
up in her room, and prayed sincerely that her loved sister 
might also receive the blessing of health. And when Pansy 
walked to Mary it seemed too good to be true. She felt 
it was a miracle, and that there was something more, some 
deeper meaning to all this than what appeared on the sur- 
face. But how to get it, what to do, she did not know. 
She felt she ought to do something to show her gratitude, 
but she did not know how to do it. 

Why should Edith have hesitated to go to Mary or Miss 
Stevens and talk the matter over freely with them? Had 
it been a social matter she would have done so at once. 
Simply for the reason that she could not sufficiently 
familiarize herself to talk on the subject that had always 
seemed to her separate and apart from her real life. 

There are things in nature that belong to the natural 
development of both sexes into manhood and womanhood 
that are tabooed by parents as things not to be discussed; 
and religion is frequently treated in the same way — as a 
thing that exists and is, but never to be questioned or 
familiarly talked about. 

This spiritual and physical knowledge is the most es- 
sential of all to serve as a firm foundation upon which to 
build true manhood and womanhood; and should be the 
first and most important and the very groundwork of 
youthful education. Yet, these great fundamental truths 
are shut up in a Gothic church through the week; and 
parents whisper or shun to educate children as to their 
physical being. 

How many wrecked lives have been caused from this 


Colonel Brandt’s Family. 363 

lack of education. Is there not some one with strength 
of lungs and courage enough to cry aloud from the house- 
tops against this crime to the young ? When one 
thinks of it the wonder is, not .that there are so many 
lives ruined by this neglect, but that there are not more. 

How many girls rise on their bridal morn, ignorant as 
babes as to their future life, duties and responsibilities! 
How many young men are rushed out into the world, un- 
hedged, unfortified either by spiritual or physical truths, 
there to learn in that school of promiscuous knowledge, 
vices that mar them for life ! And who is to blame ? 
Parents, and they alone. A minister may preach until 
doomsday, and if his hearers will not heed, if they will not 
take the great truths home that he gives them, and live 
them, it is not his fault, but theirs. 

Parents in the more advanced circles, look to it that their 
children shall be accomplished, know their Greek and 
Latin and English. But these great, essential truths, that 
would be like a coat of armor to them, when going forth 
to battle with life, that would turn the dagger-point of sin 
and sloth from their souls, and make them healthful, 
wholesome, helpful citizens, a blessing to themselves and to 
posterity, they are profoundly ignorant of until too late. 
Should you tell the parents that their children had not 
been well raised they would bitterly resent it. But it is 
true. They are little or no better than heathens. 

Mrs. Brandt was a clever, bright woman; but she dis- 
liked anything out of the ordinary. She was sensitive to 
ridicule. She lived within a circle that belonged to her, 
that had become a part of her. She was a sort of central 
sun around which her surroundings moved in an orderly 
way. Anything outside the prescribed limits she had noth- 
ing to do with, and it had nothing to do with her as its 
central figure. The impress of herself was to be seen 


364 Mary Starkweather. 

within these limits. She gave liberally to charities, and 
let some one else look after the bestowing of her gifts. 
That was all separate and apart from her home and her 
own doings. She had no memory of words of love spoken 
to the suffering, or memorable act done. She had a de- 
sire to emulate socially. This desire she gratified to its 
fullest extent. She really had no spirituality. She was 
unconsciously an idolater. All the forms, figures and 
symbols that lead up socially she idolized. In a way she 
really loved her children. She said she worshiped them, 
and in her way she did. They were both brilliant and 
beautiful. She was proud of them. She was filled with 
pride at the sensation Edith had created abroad, and when 
the title of one of oldest dukedoms was laid at her feet, 
Mrs. Brandt was overjoyed at the thought of this brilliant 
alliance; and while she really wanted Edith to be happy, 
yet she was filled with regret at her breaking off with this 
English duke. , She felt it would have given them such 
standing abroad. Still she was really far from what one 
would call a frivolous woman. She was of good lineage. 
She had dignity and pride, and no scandal had ever tar- 
nished her name. Yet she had that slavish love for the 
fiesh-pots of Egypt; she so loved power, was so involved 
in the pursuit and pleasures of society, dress and personal 
gratification that she had little time for anything else. 
Manners and social standing were the first essentials nec- 
essary in her opinion ; morals were a secondary considera- 
tion. 

She was of Southern birth. The old negro mammy who 
had nursed her had, with the aid of a younger assistant, 
brought up Pansy and Edith also. It was at her knee they 
had learned to lisp their first prayer, and on her ample 
bosom they were hushed to rest. Mrs. Brandt prided her- 
self upon not knowing a thing about her children’s bring- 


365 


Colonel Brandt’s Family. 

ing up. She went to the nursery once every day and 
looked at them; then her duty was done. When they grew 
older, they had a governess, and later were sent to school. 
But it was always to Aunt Betty they went in affliction in- 
stead of to their mother. 

Mrs. Brandt would have stoutly resented the idea that 
they were not religious. They supported the church, and 
all its charities liberally. They were regular attendants. 
They talked about the Church and its charities in a gen- 
eral way; but religion, the true essence, the thing the 
Church stood for, was never discussed. All the religion 
they knew they found in the church when they entered 
it, and it still remained there when they left. 

This illness of Pansy had brought the mother and daugh- 
ters closer together than ever before. Mrs. Brandt was 
very grateful for Pansy’s recovery; but to tell the truth, 
she would have been doubly grateful if it had been done 
in the regular, orthodox way, by a regular physician. She 
so disliked anything unusual; and the day Pansy rose up 
from her chair and walked to Mrs. Thornton, it was really 
quite a shock to her. But she overcame it, in a measure, 
and had yielded gladly to Mary’s request to keep Pansy 
with her until she would become perfectly strong. 

And what a light was breaking in on Pansy! The at- 
mosphere that surrounded the Thorntons was deeply re- 
ligious. It was not the kind that is kept in a closet and 
worn on stated occasions; but they ate, drank, slept and 
breathed their religion every hour of their lives. They 
talked it freely, compared notes, and watched results. 

Pansy had a little proud, imperious way with her. She 
had a quick, keen, bright intellect, but under it all she was 
frank, truthful and childlike ; and on account of her being 
the youngest and a pet, she was a good deal of an ivy. She 
had always loved Mary, but since she felt she had gained 


366 


Mary Starkweather. 

her health through her, she worshiped her; and being in 
the house with Mary, and seeing how beautiful her char- 
acter was, she clung to her, and soon desired above all 
things to be as much like her as possible. Like little Carl 
and all others that were much in the society of Mary, 
Pansy was waking up, little by little, to a new view of 
her surroundings. 

Many of the sojourners at the Springs were beginning 
to think of Newport. Some had gone, others were going. 
Colonel Eversoll had returned to his family in New York. 
Edith and her mother had gone to the city for a few days. 
They had a villa at Newport; but would not open it until 
the first of July. Miss Stevens had gone home, to Boston. 

One day, while at the Springs, Edith had heard Ger- 
trude talking to Carl As usual, they were having a dis- 
pute about something, and she heard Gertrude say: 

^^But youVe got to do your part, too. If you wanted 
some nice flowers in your yard, how would you get them ?” 

^Tray for them,” replied Carl. 

At this answer Gertrude laughed long and loud, and she 
said : 

“Well, you wouldn’t get them.” 

“I’d like to know why I wouldn’t. You’re the funniest 
girl I ever saw. One minute you say, when you want 
things, you’ve got to pray like blazes ; and the next minute 
you say you don’t. There’s not a bit of sense in it, so there 
ain’t.’ ” 

“Well, Carl, do you expect God to do everything and 
you do nothing?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

^YV'ell, if you wanted some flowers you would dig up the 
ground and put in some seeds. That would be your part. 
Then God would make them grow. That would be His 
part. If you expect God to do things for you, you’ve got 


Colonel Brandt’s Family. 367 

to do your part, too. God is back of it all. He gives you 
sense and the seed and the ground. So, you see, you’ve 
just got to do your part if you want things.” 

Edith kept thinking of this. There seemed a great deal 
of truth in it; but how to do her part she did not know. 
When she reached the city, she poured out all her desires 
and perplexities in old Betty’s ears, not neglecting to tell 
her of the conversation between Carl and' Gertrude. And 
old Betty, who was overwhelmed with joy at Pansy’s recov- 
ery, when Edith had finished, exclaimed, while the tears 
of thankfulness rolled down her withered cheeks : 

“Dat’s the trufe, suah ’nuff. Miss Edith. Dat chile dun 
got a. lot 0’ sense. Lawd ! how I jis prayed to de Throne 
of Grace for Miss Pansy to git well, an’ now, jis like dat 
chile says, de good Lawd is back of it all, an’ He dun made 
her well, an’ now we got to do sumpen to show our thank- 
fulness an’ to show de Lawd we is wilin’ to do our part.” 

^^But, Aunt Betty, what can we do?” 

^‘Well, I ’spect yo’ better gib some money or sumpen to 
somebody. Dunno what else yo’ kin do.” 

^^But, Aunt Betty, that’s so easy. That doesn’t seem 
like anything. I feel I ought to do something for some- 
body that is suffering.” 

“Well, I ’spect you’se right. Miss Edith. But how yo’ 
gwine to do it ? How is yo’ gwine to find ’em ?” 

“That’s just it. Aunt Betty ; but we must find some way 
to do it. Can’t you think of some way?” 

kain’t tbink of nobody, ’ceptin’ Miss Dolores. You 
know she dun go to yore churchy an’ I hear, shore ’nuff 
how she workin’ foah the pore all de time. I ’spect she 
could tell yuh, honey, jis what to do.” 

Miss Dolores had been, and was still, possessed of a good 
deal of wealth. Many years ago she gave up society and 


368 


Mary Starkweather. 

devoted herself entirely to missionary work. But except 
at church or Sunday-school, Edith rarely saw her. 

The first Sunday Edith was in town, she went to church. 
There was a stranger in the pulpit. He preached a red- 
hot sermon against the rich — ^their idleness, their selfish- 
ness, and their unwillingness to aid the poor. He pic- 
tured the suffering in the cities, and then went on to speak 
of social conditions. The man was an honest, well-mean- 
ing man ; but instead of being a preacher, he was a shrieker, 
a scolder. He worked himself up into a perfect tempest, 
and ended in getting about as far from the real truth, as 
the people whom he condemned. But in the state that 
Edith was in, it made a deep impression. 

The next day she determined she would go and see Miss 
Dolores; who was an elderly woman, and she would tell 
her just how she felt and ask her advice. She found Miss 
Dolores at home, and soon made her acquainted with her 
desire to do something useful. She soon convinced Edith 
that she was leading a useless life, and that there was but 
one remedy. She must step down and out of the social 
circle, and go down amongst the poor, and give not only her 
money, but her time in teaching them and trying to convert 
them, and make them good men and women. She told 
Edith that in order to do good she must sacrifice and deny 
herself. Then she gave her a brief outline of her work ; of 
how many poor she visited a week; and the suffering she 
relieved. She took her into the library where there were 
thread, needles, scissors and cuttings scattered all over the 
floor; and piles of garments on tables to be distributed to 
the poor. She told of the amount of work required until 
Edith’s head ached at the immensity of it. And she vague- 
ly wondered if she could ever do so much ; but she bravely 
determined to make the effort. 

When Edith reached home she lost no time in seeking 


Colonel Brandt’s Family. 369 

her mother’s presence, and announced to her that she did 
not intend to go to Newport for the season, but intended 
remaining in town, and would work in the interests of, 
and teach the slum-dwellers. 

The surprise and disgust of Mrs. Brandt can better be 
imagined than described. And there ensued a scene such 
as had never been witnessed in the Brandt family. But 
Edith’s resolution was not shaken. She remained fixed 
in her determination in spite of her mother’s anger and 
tears. She had but one regret, and that was that she had. 
not talked freely to Mary about it. She felt sure, in her 
own mind, that from her she would find both approval 
and sympathy. But she would make up for it now. She 
would write her a long letter, telling her how she longed 
to be instrumental in saving those downtrodden souls, 
and would ask for her advice. The return mail brought 
her the following reply from Mary; 

My Dear Edith ; I have this moment received your let- 
ter and answer it without delay. My dear girl, believe me, 
you are all wrong. You ask me for advice. First, let me 
answer, or rather refer to your desire which you express 
in your letter. You speak of the Commandments. Do 
you not know that honor thy father and mother is one of 
the Commandments? Then, in everything that is reason- 
able you must obey your parents, else you cannot honor 
them. You say your mother says, ^Give what you please 
but keep out of the slums.’ My dear child, she is right. 
It is not the place for you. It is better to conform to 
the customs of your position than to offend by oddity. 
Social obligations are much to your friends, your father 
and mother. Can you afford to offend them? Besides, 
what good will it do ? Make all unhappy ; and for what ? 

• — when you can do so much more and keep all harmo- 


370 


Mary Starkweather. 

nious by being rational. You have duties to perform to 
your friends, your parents. If you really desire to aid 
those less fortunate than yourself, you need not go out 
of your own home to reach the slums. 

‘^If you think soul-saving your mission, isn’t a soul saved 
in the drawing-room as valuable as a soul saved in the 
slums ? Then besides, if you really ^save a soul,’ found in 
your drawing-room, the chances are that that soul has 
money, which that soul, if truly saved and converted, can 
use in a way to save many souls in the slums. 

^^Stop and think, then, how far your influence is extend- 
ing. The soul you awaken may be a man who is much 
more fitted to go into the slums than you are. J ust think 
of being able to give freely as you can do. You are indeed 
blessed in that alone. There are so many good people 
who want to do something. They can give their time, 
but they have no money. Think what a combination you 
can form. Instead of going down into the slums yourself, 
you can co-operate with those that are working there, and 
who understand the work. You can have the same end 
in view, and come in close contact with the people you 
would serve. One person cannot do everything. You can 
aid and encourage with your money. There is a time as 
well as a place for all things. Your place, at present, 
is in your own home, under the protection of your parents. 

read in an interesting book, the other day, where a 
minister of a fashionable church, in writing to a friend, 
said : 

^^^My church is wealthy — full of well-to-do, satisfied 
people: the standard of their discipleship is, I am aware, 
not a nature to respond to the call to suffering or personal 
loss. Shall I go back to my people next Sunday, and stand 
up before them in my large city church, and say, ^‘Lei 
us follow Jesus closer. Let us walk in His steps, where 


371 


Colonel Brandt’s Family. 

it will cost us something more than it is costing us now. 
Let us pledge ourselves not to do anything without first 
asking what J esus would do’^ ? If I should go before 
them with that message it would be a strange and start- 
ling one to them. But why?’* 

^^Then the good man let his pen fall unable to answer 
the question. Do you think his church an exception to 
most of our fashionable churches ? And if this man coujld 
realize this condition among the very people he had labored 
with for years, do you not think that there is something 
to be done outside the slums ? 

^^Do you think the good little Salvation Army lasses are 
afraid to go into the slums and ask the people to turn to 
Jesus and Valk in His si^eps’? Not at all. Nor are the 
slums nearly so apt to be startled by the request. 

^‘Then, my dear, is there no missionary work for you in 
your own set ? I truly think it is more needed, for the sin 
must be greater where people have eyes and see not, ears 
and hear not. Think of your position and influence and 
how many you can secure to co-operate with you. You are 
in touch with them. Your position commands attention. 
You speak lightly of your wealth, of dress and of your so- 
cial position. They are all blessings if not selfishly 
abused. Your wealth has given you refined tastes and 
instincts which you have a right to enjoy. Beauty is not 
vain, nor the rational adornment of it. Society, temper- 
ately enjoyed, is a necessary recreation. 

^‘You say you feel you should sacrifice yourself. I don’t 
think sacrifice absolutely necessary for doing good; nor 
do I think it necessary to wear some kind of livery. 
Pharisaism I think is to be avoided; reason and common- 
sense cultivated. Study moderation. Do what your 
hands find to do. 


* “ In His Steps.” Rev. Chas. M. Sheldon. 


372 


Mary Starkweather. 

^^You say you are wretched. It is a disease. Above all 
things preserve the moral health of your soul. To do good, 
cheerfulness of spirit is essential. ^Banish the winter of 
your discontent.’ Bid Hope and Love enter instead. Be 
practical. Be consistent. Be still. ^Be still and know 
that I am God.’ Think of those words, Be still. If you 
follow this, you will be surprised to know how quickly you 
will be led. These are moral virtues so easy of attainment 
by one that will in truth and sincerity strive to cultivate 
them. And when you have attained them, you will then 
hear all the divine harmony ringing and singing in your 
soul. Keep the undercurrent of Thought flowing deep 
and strong. You will then become so saturated with the 
great Truth that you will draw unto yourself all that 
is most helpful. 

^‘To the darkest cloud a silver lining — a way out of every 
difficulty. Be still and know. The way to do good will 
be opened to you, believe me. 

^^God bless you, dear. Write me when I can serve you. 
With love, Mary Thornton. 

^T. S. Pansy is blooming. I expect to go to Newport, 
for a little time, late in the season, and shall be much 
disappointed if I do not find you there M. T.” 

Edith read this letter with growing surprise, it was so 
totally different from what she had expected. She had 
anticipated support and approval from Mary for the stand 
she had taken. She supposed that in taking this religious 
and philanthropic step, she had given up Newport, and 
society altogether. 

Edith was very much distressed. She did not know what 
to think. She had unbounded faith in Mary; yet she 
couldn’t understand how religion, philanthropy, society, 
dress and the enjoyment of wealth could go hand in hand 


373 


Colonel Brandt’s Family. 

for Good. It was so different from any proceeding she 
had heretofore heard or read of. All the rich people that 
took up this kind of work, invariably gave up society and 
were rarely seen by their old friends. She recalled the 
talk on the lawn the morning after the cure of the colonel ; 
how Mary was censured and criticized. She knew vaguely 
that Mary was carrying on some kind of philanthropic work 
besides what she was doing at Bethesda; but she did not 
know exactly what it was. If Mary only had told her what 
to do ! But she had not. She had told her she would be 
led ; but how was she to know ? She read the letter again. 
Then she buried her face in the pillows on the divan, 
where she was sitting, and prayed for guidance. She de- 
termined to still and — wait. 


374 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

MENTAL TELEPATHY. 

Dick and Bennie had come up to the city the day be- 
fore. They had breakfasted and were standing on the 
corner of the street, and had just decided to go out to 
Dicks country-place, to look over the stables and ken- 
nels. Dick put up his hand to hail a hansom to take 
them to the station, and as the driver drew up to the 
curbstone, Dick suddenly stopped and said: 

^^The Brandts are in town. Suppose we drop in and 
see Edith first;” and thrusting a ^Tip” into the hands of 
the driver to soothe his disappointment at the loss of the 
expected fare, they, without a moment’s hesitation, turned 
their faces in the direction of the Brandt mansion which 
was only two blocks away. The servant who met them 
at the door, said, as he preceded them: 

^^Miss Brandt is in the library.” 

Edith was much surprised to see them, but she was also 
glad. They were Mary’s friends, and they, at least, did 
not ridicule her. Besides, they had been at Willow 
Springs and knew all that had occurred there. And since 
the scene between Edith and her mother, their relations 
had been rather strained, and it was a relief to see some 


Mental Telepathy. 375 

one to whom she could talk, even while she felt convinced 
that they would not have any real sympathy in either re- 
ligious or philanthropic pursuits. 

Both Bennie and Dick noticed that Edith was not quite 
her serene self, and wondered what was the matter. Then 
it occurred to Dick that perhaps Pansy was worse, and he 
inquired if she had heard from Mary. 

‘‘Yes,” she replied, a warm glow coming into her cheeks, 
and her voice taking a sort of defiant tone; “I have just 
received this letter. Would you like to read it? It will 
surprise you, I think. There, take it!” holding it out 
to him. “Bead it aloud so Bennie can hear it. There are 
some things in it I do not understand. Perhaps you can 
enlighten me.” 

She gave him the letter more in a spirit of sheer per- 
versity and desperation than anything else, feeling that 
it would be but a moment’s passing interest to either of 
them. 

Dick took the letter and read it aloud, from beginning 
to end without comment. Then he folded it carefully and 
handed it back to Edith. There was a short pause. Then 
Edith said: 

“Well, what do you think of it? Have you nothing 
to say about it?” 

“So you think of taking up missionary work, do you?” 
asked Dick quizzically, leaning back in his chair. 

This nettled Edith, and she flushed with anger as she 
said defiantly : 

-‘i'es, I do, and I let you see that letter, because you 
have both been at the Springs, and because I thought you 
were both friends of Mrs. Thornton; and I supposed you 
would at least treat it with consideration and respect. 
But, I might have known better.” 

She spoke in a nervous, excited manner, with more real 


376 Mary Starkweather. 

feeling than Dick had ever given her credit for. He was 
a little surprised; but while he was convinced that this 
spasm of charity work would not last long, he saw that 
she was terribly in earnest — at least, for the present. 

He gleaned from the letter that Edith was meeting 
opposition from her mother, and that she had declined 
to go to Newport. He was delighted to see that Mary, 
with her usual good sense, had come to the rescue. He 
felt that the state of mind Edith was in was the reaction 
from what they had all witnessed at Willow Springs 
and the cure of Pansy. 

As he was an old friend of the family as well as a 
friend of Mary, he concluded he could do nothing better 
than stand by Edith in her present dilemma. So, he 
said with a good deal of earnestness: 

^‘You are mistaken if you think I am not interested. 
The letter has set me thinking.’^ 

^Ts it possible you can think said Edith sarcasti- 
cally. 

‘^By a great effort,” good-naturedly replied Dick. 
^^Shall I tell you what I was thinking?” 

‘^1 don't suppose it will be worth hearing; but I will 
listen,” she replied ungraciously. 

^Thank you,” said Dick laughing. ^^You know Mrs. 
Thornton said you must still and know.’ Now, you 
should have followed her directions.” 

did,” replied Edith, her face aflame. '^When I 
read that letter, I just put my head down on this pillow 
and prayed with all my strength that I might be led to 
do the right thing; and I had just determined I would 
be still and wait the results, when you came in.” 

Edith said this half defiantly. She never had acknowl- 
edged, before, to any one that she ever prayed, and why 
she should have done so now, to two of the most in- 


Mental Telepathy. 377 

different men of her acquaintance she did not know. 
Bennie and Dick looked at her in astonishment. Then 
Dick sprang up, and slapping Bennie on the shoulder, 
said : 

^^Bennie, old boy, according to this letter we were both 
led here this morning. I shall soon begin to believe in 
miracles myself. What have you to say about it — eh?’’ 

But without replying, Bennie got up and said to 
Edith : 

“I want to use your telephone a minute.” He knew 
where to find it and left tfie room. 

Dick turned to Edith and told her how they had 
made up their minds to go out of town, and how, quick 
as a flash, it came to them to call upon her. 

"Now I propose we all go into the charity business 
for a brief spell, and pay penance for our sins,” said 
Dick. "It will be a jolly lark and something new. Sup- 
pose we all go down to the Springs in the morning, and 
you can tell Mrs. Thornton that you have made two con- 
verts already — yes, three ; for we’ll make old Donald 
come, too. And now I’ll speak for myself personally,” 
continued Dick, coming over and taking a vacant chair 
near her. 

"I am ready and willing to help you out personally or 
with my purse in any and in all charity work you may 
undertake. I only want to advise you in one thing, and 
that is, be guided by Mrs. Thornton in whatever you do.” 

Edith had listened with wide eyes. There was a pause ; 
then she said 4 

"You, you! Eichard Braintree. Do you mean it?” 

"I honestly mean it, and will prove it to you,” re- 
plied Dick. For the moment he was full of animation. 

"I would as soon have thought of the heavens falling 
as of you doing anything of this kind,” 


378 


Mary Starkweather. 

Dick lifted his eyebrows. 

the handsome, proud, distinguished belle of New 
York, Miss Brandt, can do it, why not I 

^^Because you are a man, and because men are 

^^What?’^ queried Dick. 

^^Inconstant, unreliable — but I remember you said it 
was for a brief period. You limit yourself. 

^^How ungracious and uncharitable when I am trying 
to be good,’’ said Dick assuming a grieved tone. 
think I should withdraw my offer; but I won’t. What 
is it about turning the left cheek when you’re ^smote’ 
on the right? I’ll see if I can follow the injunction. 
I’ll promise to be faithful until 

^^Until?” 

“Well, until you find a substitute. How will that do?” 

“I’ll wager you will be advertising for a substitute be- 
fore the month is out,” laughingly replied Edith. 

“Possibly,” he acquiesced. 

At this moment Bennie returned, and Dick exclaimed: 

^W^hat’s the matter with you, Bennie? Haven’t you 
anything to say? Have you lost your chivalry?” Then 
turning to Edith he said: “For several days he has 
almost lived at Judge Thornton’s — actually playing with 
Carl and Gertrude. The other day, I went over there 
and found both him and Pansy playing with the chil- 
dren.” 

“And, by Jove! Miss Edith, Dick took a hand at the 
sport himself,” retorted Bennie. “He offered to draw 
Miss Pansy down to the cottages in Carl’s little wagon, 
but she declined with thanks.” 

“Enough, enough!” exclaimed Dick, vaving his hands. 
“Let us return to the first question. I have pledged 
myself to Miss Brandt in this charity work Are we 
to have your co-operation?” 


Mental Telepathy. 379 

^^Well, the plain truth, without any trimmings, is, that 
I’m already pledged,” replied Bennie. 

Dick looked at him a minute, then said: 

‘^What are you talking about, Bennie?” 

^^Only this. For days I have been watching Mrs. 
Thornton, and I found out all about her work down at 
the cottages; and I made some inquiries and found that 
Judge Thornton was doing a lot of things for boys here 
in the city. I attended a number of beautiful services 
in the little temple. Dick says I played with the children. 
I did; for I wanted to hear Gertrude talk, and I have 
learned more from that child than I ever knew before, 
by Jove! and I felt ashamed of myself. Even that little 
girl was doing more than I. I thought a good deal about 
it, and at first, I felt I’d hate to cut my friends and quit 
my club and discharge my valet. But at last I made up 
my mind I’d do it. So I went to see Mrs. Thornton, 
and told her what I had decided to do. She looked at 
me in surprise, and egad! what do you think she said?” 

^^What did she say?” queried Edith, anxiously. 

^^Go on, Bennie. We can never guess,” said Dick. 

I don’t think you can. By Jove! she has the 
queerest way of looking at things. I always supposed 
that when you went in for -all this sort of thing you had 
to wait upon yourself, and give up things, and give the 
money to the poor. And I told her so, and she said: 

^Don’t do extravagant and foolish things and become 
eccentric. I wouldn’t discharge so faithful a servant as 
Alfred and give his money to some one else. You would 
better hire an additional valet, and give employment to 
as many as possible. The more they take care of you, the 
more time you will have to think of other things; and 
they can help you out a great deal if you can get them 
interested. In helping you they will feel they are help- 


380 Mary Starkweather. 

ing in the good work, and in this way, yon see your chari- 
table work will begin right in your immediate surround- 
ings. It will be a stimulus to you as well as to them. 
Don’t quit any of your friends; and as for your club, I 
think it is, or ought to be, a necessary adjunct to this 
sort of thing. It’s a good place to talk about it, you 
know. Only be careful that you don’t talk too much. 
Think more than you talk. Thoughts are things, you 
know. They move the world. Nobody talked to you 
about taking up this kind of work; but you see you are 
doing it. It is the atmosphere that you are uncon- 
sciously drawing around you.’ 

^^By Jove! I never heard of anything so funny. I 
don’t understand it a bit, but you see, we’ve had another 
evidence of it this morning. No one suggested our com- 
ing here; yet we came on the spur of the moment after 
we had decided to go somewhere else. And the thought 
came to Dick — ^not me. And we came just when you 
needed us the most.” 

^^Oh, Bennie !” exclaimed Edith, do believe you were 
sent to me this morning; for I was truly miserable. I 
begin to realize what it means to ^Be still and know.’ I 
am not very good, and I’m not a bit changed, only in 
this way: I do feel grateful for Pansy’s recovery. It’s 
all a great mystery to me. I don’t understand it at all. 
But I feel I ought to make some kind of a sacrifice or do 
something to show my real gratitude. To just accept 
this great blessing of health for her, and never do any- 
thing for any one else that is suffering seems so heart- 
less. I don’t know why I didn’t go and have a talk with 
Mrs. Thornton myself. I was there every day; but some 
way, I couldn’t do it. And you know she is always gay 
and pleasant, and she don’t talk about those things much, 
herself.” 


Mental Telepathy. 381 

^That’s it,” said Bennie. “She thinks more than she 
speaks. She took me down to the cottages and all over 
the place, and iBs jnst wonderful; and if yon could just 
see how every one of those people love her ! and Malcolm 
is worth a good deal of money, and you could not get him 
to leave Mrs. Thornton and the general. The cottages 
are in his charge, and both he and his wife, Trixey, are 
as proud of them as if they belonged to them.” 

“Well, IT be blessed !” said Dick, who had listened 
to Bennie and Edith in amazement; “I feel that I am 
truly called to look after you two children. I agree with 
Mrs. Thornton in one thing, at least, and that is, that 
missionary work, like charity, should begin at home. I 
have found my work. You are getting too good altogether. 
You need attention.” 

This was the first time Bennie had ever taken any im- 
portant step without consulting Dick, and the latter be- 
gan to realize that Bennie was not so much of an infant 
as he supposed. 

“It isnT because I am good,” said Bennie; “and while 
I^d like to do some useful thing, I don’t mind confessing 
it’s as much to please Mrs. Thornton as anything else. 
I am never so happy as when I am in her house. I would 
rather spend my summer helping her and Miss Edith 
than to go to Newport. I had hinted to Alfred that I was 
going to discharge him. So, after I had the talk with 
Mrs. Thornton, I went to the hotel and told him that not 
only could he remaiti, but I would employ his brother 
also, as he was out of a place. Alfred was almost par- 
alyzed for a minute, and then he nearly fell over himself 
with joy. You see, his brother is getting old, and it is 
hard for him to get a place. His master died about a year 
ago. Alfred at once begged me to reduce his salary. I 
told him no; and I’m going to see if I can interest him 


382 Mary Starkweather. 

as Mrs. Thornton suggests. His brother is very smart 
and speaks several languages that he learned while living 
abroad; and he kept all his master’s accounts. I shall 
like him for that reason. It always gives me a pain to 
even think of figures.” 

^^Well, this is all very amazing; but what have you 
decided to do?” inquired Dick. 

^^Nothing, as yet. I am going to be guided by Mrs. 
Thornton. I was going to buy a fine yacht this sum- 
mer; and instead of that, I am going to put the money 
into this work in some way. Mrs. Thornton told me she 
had a project for putting people out on land, and that she 
was trying to secure more land; and when she got it she 
would be glad of my assistance. Then I told her I had 
a lot of land over in Jersey, and asked her why she 
couldn’t use that. But I told her it wasn’t very rich. 
My! You ought to have seen how her eyes gleamed. 
And she said, ^Hever mind. We can use it all right. We 
will make it rich, and we can plant beans and cabbage, 
and chickens and incubators and eggs and violets and 
pigs and roses and turkeys,”’ said Bennie, getting every- 
thing mixed. 

But, strange to say, neither Dick nor Edith laughed. 
They were too absorbed in the idea that he was advanc- 
ing. And Bennie went on: 

H couldn’t understand it; for when I said I would 
give the land to charity, she said I need not give it. And 
when I asked her for an explanation, she said they now 
had a place in operation; and that the manager was here 
in the city, and had all the plans. I was to see him this 
afternoon and get a full understanding of it. When I 
saw that Miss Edith was interested, I called him up by 
telephone, and asked him to bring the plans here. I am 
expecting him every minute. There!” concluded Bennie^ 


Mental Telepathy. 383 

going over and giving Dick a thump on the back, I feel 
as if I had thrown up an elephant. I have made my 
confession. Am I to receive absolution?’^ 

^^Not until you have done the penance that I shall 
impose, when I get you alone,” said Dick, mysteriously. 

At this moment, the door bell rang. 

^There ! no doubt that is he now,” said Edith. 

The servant appeared with a card bearing the name in 
plain script — Edwin Austin. 

^^Show him in,” said Bennie; and he went forward to 
meet him. Bennie was expecting to see a bustling, push- 
ing fellow. On the contrary, Mr. Austin was a tall, stately 
man with iron-gray hair. He was well but plainly 
dressed, and would have been an ornament to any draw- 
ing-room; for he had the manners of a Chesterfield. 

Bennie introduced Mr. Austin to Dick and Edith, and 
then said: 

‘^We are somewhat interested in Mrs. Thornton’s work, 
and she referred us to you.” 

^^Yes, I had a letter from her requesting me to give 
you any and all information that you might desire. And 
I have brought the plans and diagrams of what we have 
done and what we hope to do,” said Mr. Austin, glancing 
around for a place to display his maps. 

^^ill this table answer?” asked Edith, moving to a 
large table in the room. 

^Terfectly,” he replied; and they gathered around as 
he unrolled and spread out one of the plans for inspection. 

[For an idea of this plan we refer the reader to the 
illustration.] 

^^How this shows,” began Mr. Austin, ‘Vhat we have 
been experimenting upon. Five years ago this plan was 
worked out by Mrs. Thornton. Next to General Stark- 
weather’s land at Mabelthorp is the estate of Major Col- 


384 Mary Starkweather. 

ton. Mrs. Thornton showed him her plans for a com- 
munity, and General Starkweather and he put up the 
land. Major Colton also put up a large sum of money 
for the improvements. They laid it out in ten-acre farms 
in this sort of a wedge-shape,” — referring to the diagram. 

^^The houses were built on this portion of the plot,” — 
again referring to the diagram — “which brings them all 
in a row, close together, and fronting on this street. The 
land is divided by fences and roads. In this one that 
we have now in operation, there are two hundred families. 

“This central plot is divided into four parts by the 
streets cutting through it. Directly in the center, where 
the streets cross, is a fountain. No. 1 is a Catholic 
Church, No. 2, a Protestant Church. Nos. 3 and 4 are 
school-houses. No. 5 is a building that contains library, 
gymnasium, and large lecture-room, which has a stage 
for dramatic performances. There are other smaller 
rooms used for various purposes. No. 6 is a building 
that has a kindergarten, sewing-rooms, and class-rooms 
for cooking^schools and other uses. No. 7 — ^this little 
building standing by itself — is a hospital. Now, you see 
the central plot has a street encircling it ; and this double 
row of houses between the central plot and the houses on 
the land are for shops and residences for the people who 
do not farm. ^ 

“There is always a good supply of books, papers, and 
teachers to instruct the people how to obtain the best 
results from whatever they are engaged in producing. 

“Now, the man who takes this land is supposed to 
buy it. You just give him the start by putting him where 
he can earn and pay for it, instructing him how to do it. 
You charge him the actual cost and a very small rate of 
interest. 

“Now this is what we hope to do,” said Mr. Austin, 





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Mental Telepathy. 385 

spreading another diagram on the table. ^^But you will 
see it is practically the same, only on a larger scale, and 
it will require a large sum of money to promote it.” 

‘^Have you been with the community long?” asked 
Dick. 

“I have been interested in it from the inception,” he 
replied. 

^^Do you consider it a success?” 

"It is by far the most successful project of the kind 
that I have ever known or tried. It seems that for years 
Mrs. Thornton had a desire to give people permanent 
help. Temporary aid seemed to be almost wasted. After 
much thought, she conceived this plan. You see, it brings 
them all together as in a village, and there becomes quite 
a rivalry in keeping their homes in order, and in seeing 
who can produce the most, and pay for their place first. 
Then, in this way, they are all so near the churches and 
schools, there is no excuse for remaining away.” 

"What do these people raise?” asked Edith. 

"Principally vegetables, chickens, melons and small 
fruits for the New York market. 

"One man that came out there had a family of six 
children. He was an Italian. In the old country he had 
been a florist. He came here and he could not get any- 
thing to do, and he had no influence, and no one to help 
him. He said if he could raise violets he could do well. 
We fitted him up for violet culture. He raised violets 
for the New York market; besides many other things 
on the balance of his land. His children were all in- 
dustrious. In three years he paid for the land, and at 
the end of the fifth year had saved quite a nice little 
sum of money. He sold his place back to the company, 
and has taken his family and has gone west where he can 
get more land. This man, besides getting a start, was a 


386 Mary Starkweather. 

great bejiefit to the community. His habits of thrift and 
economy were good examples, and he gave instruction 
freely at all times in all kinds of flower-culture. Yet, 
when he brought his family to this community, everything 
they possessed could have been put on a hand-cart. 

^‘Quite a good many have paid for their places, and a 
few have done as our Italian friend — sold their places 
back and gone where they can get more land. But others 
are so attached to the place, you could hardly induce 
them to leave. Women that were sickly and prematurely 
old, have grown young living where the air is pure. It 
makes not only a living for those that can farm, but for 
the small dealers and trades-people. The country 
farmers all come down to the community, now, and 
patronize those stores.^^ 

“And what do you do with those places that have been 
sold back?” asked Bennie. 

“We put some one else right into them and let the work 
go on.” 

^^And has Mrs. Thornton done all this?” asked Edith. 

“Practically, yes. Although she never says much about 
it, yet she worked out and promoted the entire plan. 
She consults Judge Thornton and the general; but they 
rarely make any changes. She does not claim the project 
is perfect yet; and there are constantly new develop- 
ments that she thinks advantageous. 

“She is now in hopes of being able to interest people 
enough to start a number of communities, and so get 
thousands of families out of the overcrowded districts 
and into the west where land is cheap. She and Judge 
Thornton traveled over a number of states this spring, 
looking for favorable localities. They were particularly 
struck with Texas. The climate is mild, the land fertile. 
Two crops a year can be raised, and fine artesian water 


Mental Telepathy. 387 

can be had. Communities can be established there at a 
small cost, comparatively speaking. So far, she has so- 
licited nothing. The people that have put up the money 
have offered to do it. You see, it is not the same as 
giving charity. It’s a sort of endless chain. It’s just 
as /on would invest in any business and wait for the re- 
turn. One can let the money do the work over and over 
again, or they can withdraw it as it comes in.” 

^‘^By J ove ! It’s a great scheme,” said Bennie. 

^^You speak of Texas. Isn’t that too far away from 
the markets?” asked Dick. 

^^By no means. With our present railway facilities for 
shipping, there is no difficulty. Besides shipping their 
products they can establish ^canneries’ for fruits and veg- 
etables. They raise the finest grapes there, and the yield 
is enormous. 

^^One of the most sucessful things yet tried is the rais- 
ing of strawberries. Mrs. Thornton happened to know 
of Henry Eolman, the Yew Jersey strawberry king. So, 
she visited him, and placed a man with him to learn his 
methods of cultivating strawberries. This humane man 
became very much interested in the community, and gave 
not only all the information possible, but even made pil- 
grimages to Goluckie to give personal advice, and fur- 
nished thousands of plants at a nominal cost. The first 
two years the yield was great; but as nothing compared 
to the past three years, and though not up to Mr. Eol- 
man’s standard, yet the crops have been fabulous. 
Goluckie is now beginning to be famed for its strawber- 
ries, melons and other small fruits and vegetables. They 
are now cultivating a tomato that grows upon a trellis 
that is wonderful in its yield, and takes up a very little 
space. 

‘^There is not an impossible thing about the whole 


388 


Mary Starkweather. 


scheme; and that is why Mrs. Thornton has worked so 
hard to keep it from the newspapers until it had been 
thoroughly demonstrated. The majority have now paid 
for their own homes, and they are. proud of it, too, I 
can tell you. 

^^There are millions and millions of dollars wasted every 
year in giving temporary relief to the poor, keeping up 
immense charitable societies and various organizations 
bound by red tape. People of any pride, or delicacy, 
never apply for charity until all else has failed, and they 
are absolutely starving. And before they can run the 
gamut of red tape of the charity organization they usu- 
ally do starve. This same money, if properly expended, 
would give these same poor a chance to earn a home and 
make themselves respecting and independent. A home 
of one’s own is a stimulus to good citizenship. Mrs. 
Thornton’s idea is to permanently relieve their condi- 
tion. There are many people who have saved a few 
dollars, and would gladly go to a place of this kind if 
the way were opened up for them. You could hardly be- 
lieve it possible that the people in this community to- 
day were the same miserable creatures of five years ago. 
Some one remarked to Mrs. Thornton that she would have 
a lot of missionary work to do. She replied : 

^Let these people get out of the city where the air and 
sunshine can do the missionary work. When these get 
into their hearts and lives you will see that they are human, 
and that is what they need.’ 

^‘^And she was right. From the haggard, pale, ill-kept 
people that hardly looked human, they have grown into 
healthy, neat, well-kept citizens, a credit to themselves 
and to those that have helped them. 

^^She always speaks of her work as if it were a sort of 
pleasure. Yet to my personal knowledge, in starting this 


Mental Telepathy. 389 

movement she practiced much self-denial and economy 
in order to do it. 

^The day has never been too cold, too hot, nor too wet 
for her to go to Goluckie, if needed, or if any one was in 
trouble there. I believe if she were in China and she 
felt they needed her at Goluckie she would start for home 
at once. I saw her one night, here in New York, all 
dressed for a grand ball. I never saw her look so beauti- 
ful. I had come in town to consult the general. I hap- 
pened to mention that a child at Goluckie was not ex- 
pected to live until morning. It was the only child of 
a man and woman of the most ordinary type; but they 
were devoted to it and were distracted. As soon as I 
told her she rushed out of the room to the judge, de- 
claring she must go to Goluckie. He looked at the time- 
table and found they would have just twenty minutes to 
reach the station. How they both got out of ball attire 
and into street garb, and to the station in so short a time 
I can’t tell. But they did; and she left me to send a 
trained nurse down. It was a bitter, cold night, but she 
did not mind it. The child got well. 

^That is only an illustration of what her devotion to 
those people has been for five years. It is needless to say 
that she is simply worshiped — positively adored. Judge 
Thornton and the general are both looked upon by those 
people as the two greatest men in the world. But Mrs. 
Thornton is their queen.” 

Mrs. Thornton and Goluckie were themes that Mr. 
Austin evidently was fond of; for he continued: 

^^She watches every step of progress these people make. 
She knows just who are getting on and who are not, and 
she will have a word of encouragement, and, in a quiet 
way, she will help those that become discouraged. At 
first, she speut days with these people until they got 


390 Mary Starkweather. 

started. The general did the same, and he and Judge 
Thornton talked to the men evenings, and taught them 
games. General Starkweather delivers a course of 
lectures every year, with stereoptican views. Mrs. Thorn- 
ton talks and visits among the women. She is, without 
doubt, a remarkable woman. She has an intuitive knowl- 
edge I never saw equaled. If any one has a genius or a 
talent for anything, she will find it out and give him an 
opportunity to use it. She has fitted more than a dozen 
girls, that belong to the settlement, for teachers, by put- 
ting them into schools in Clinton. She fitted up a cot- 
tage at Mabelthorp, and put these girls in it, with the 
widowed mother of one of them to look after them. 
There was one family that moved out there that had 
a son twelve years old. The boy did not care for work, 
and he was the pest of the place, drawing ships and boats 
of all kinds with pieces of chalk or charcoal on fences, 
houses, or anything he could find to sketch on. Mrs. 
Thornton found it out and visited his mother, who said 
she had been tried almost to the verge of insanity with the 
boy; that he would run away to the wharf in the city and 
spend his whole time there marking up everything. She 
said she had whipped him and it had done no good. Mrs. 
Thornton sent for the boy and had a talk with him. She 
told him if he would promise to sketch only on the paper 
she gave him, she would send him all the pencils and paper 
he would want. Of course, the child was delighted. In 
a few weeks’ time she took all his drawings to Mr. Le Mars, 
the marine painter. He pronounced them wonderful and 
declared the boy had the bold strong hand of a master. 
She made arrangements for him to take lessons from Mr. 
Le Mars. He took two lessons a week for two years, re- 
maining at Goluckie. For the past two years he has stayed 
in town and has been in Le Mars’s studio, and bids fair 


Mental Telepathy. 391 

to make one of the most famous marine painters of the 
day. He is already making lots of money — and a name.” 

“You don’t mean young Morlotti, the Italian, that had 
the large marine canvas at the Spring Exhibition?” ex- 
claimed Bennie. 

“That is the very young man. His parents lived down 
in the slums. They are people of very ordinary intellect, 
very good, very honest ; but that’s all. They tried to whip 
this talent out of the boy. And, at first, they rather 
thought Mrs. Thornton was ruining him. But they felt 
through her they had gotten out of their wretched condi- 
tion; and so, she had her way with the boy. Now, they 
are very proud of him. He was not a pretty boy. He had 
a heavy face and was not a favorite. He has now grown 
quite handsome; and he simply adores Mrs. Thornton. 
It was through her that his picture was sold this spring. 
He is now painting another that is most promising ; and if 
he can dispose of it for a fair figure he will then have 
enough money to go abroad for a few years.” 

“I will buy that picture,” said Edith. 

“If you change your mind, let me know,” said Dick. 

“She discovered another boy who was eternally whittling 
and cutting and trying to rig up all kinds of machinery. 
She put him into a shop in the city with a very fine machin- 
ist, and he is making great progress. 

“And so it goes. These are merely a few instances. 
You have all seen that handsome office-boy of Judge 
Thornton’s. He is one of the Goluckie boys, and his great 
ambition is to be a lawyer. 

“She discourages gifts to these people or charity of any 
kind. She has a way of saying before them: 

“ ^0, they don’t want anybody to give them anything. 
They want to pay for what they get. They are inde- 
pendent. Of course they don’t want to pay big prices. 


392 Mary Starkweather. 

But they want to feel that they have earned what they 
have/ And it is wonderful the effect it has. They have 
learned the difference between a present and charity; and 
they resent charity. She works on their pride. There 
were some of these people that had been so unfortunate as 
to be compelled to accept charity until they had gotten 
used to it. But Mrs. Thornton said we must eradicate 
that, or their children would be like them, and we don’t 
want to be instrumental in bringing up that kind of 
people. 

^^Keligiously, there is but one thing she urges; and that 
is Universal Brotherhood. Her personal religion is an 
inspiration; yet it does not interfere with what any one 
believes. The ministers declare down there that they 
believe just as she does. She has been teaching auto-sug- 
gestion, or how to keep well; and you would be surprised 
to see how these people have grasped the idea, and how 
little sickness there is. This little village is only a few 
miles from Clinton, and there is a perfect stream of 
carriages going out there every Sunday, and in the even- 
ings. People stop for berries and fruit, and they know 
they will get the best. 

^^The people at Goluckie take the greatest pride in keep- 
ing everything ready to be seen. You can’t go into any 
like number of country homes and see the perfection you 
see there. It has been an incentive to the whole country 
around, and has stimulated the farmers to better work. 

'There are but few obligations to be taken on going 
there, and I am sure you could never guess what they are. 
So I shall tell you : Ho child is allowed to be whipped, not 
even one blow from the parents, on pain of dismissal from 
the community. And all mothers have to have special 
care under the same penalty. Idleness and drunkenness 
are not tolerated, and you will be surprised to know that 


Mental Telepathy. 393 

there has been no trouble from the last two offenses. But 
with the first two there was some trouble. People have a 
way of cuffing children. It becomes a habit. They do 
it without thinking; and that was the most dreadful 
thing to Mrs. Thornton. She had a perfect horror of it. 
She declared she would not be instrumental in assisting 
to bring up children through fear. And, as for the care 
of mothers^ these people had never heard of such a thing. 
They did not know what it meant. The effort and suc- 
cess of Mrs. Thornton in bringing about desired results 
in those two matters is very interesting history, which I 
would advise you to look into sometime. You will find it 
marvelous food for reflection,^^ said Mr. Austin as he 
rolled up his plans, and rising, continued: 

‘T believe that is all the information I am able to im- 
part to you at present. If at any futuTe time I can serve 
you I shall be most happy. You know my address.” 

Edith gave him her hand, and thanking him, said 
graciously : 

^^You will surely hear from us again. I am much im- 
pressed by what you have told us.” 

He shook hands with the gentleman, bowed, and made 
his exit. 

^^What an elegant old gentleman and what perfect man- 
ners ! I wish some one would tell me how Mrs. Thornton 
manages to secure the services of such people,” said Edith. 
^‘Did you ever see her secretaries? They each have the 
manners of a duchess.” 

^Tt’s another one of her problems that I am not able 
to solve. But now tell me. What is your next move?” 
questioned Dick. 

hardly know,” replied Edith. 

move we all go down to the Springs to-morrow 
morning,” said Bennie, ‘‘"and consult Mrs. Thornton.” 


394 Mary Starkweather. 

^^You would better call her up by telephone/^ said Dick, 
^^and tell her we have seen Mr. Austin, and see what she 
suggests.” 

They were soon in communication with Mary, and after 
some little talk, it was decided that they should meet her 
at Mabelthorp the following day and all go with her to 
visit the Goluckie community. She said she would bring 
Pansy and Annie Barry with her, and they were all to 
remain three days. They would also visit Bennie’s land. 

This being satisfactory, they arranged to meet at the 
train the next morning, and Bennie and Dick took their 
departure. They had not gone far when Bennie stepped 
into a drug-store for some cigars, and left Dick standing 
on the sidewalk. At that moment, Mrs. Brandt, who was 
driving past, saw Dick and stopped to speak to him. Dick 
was a great favorite of hers, and she at once began to 
tell him that she was worried about Edith. She had not 
intended to tell this fashionable club man everything, and 
she was quite astonished when he laughingly told her he 
knew all about it, and said: 

^^Don’t worry, Mrs. Brandt. Your daughter has just 
had a long, sensible letter from Mrs. Thornton, who will 
never advise her to do anything that will make her absurd 
or ridiculous. If I had a sister I would put her into the 
hands of Mrs. Thornton without a question. We are all 
going down to Mabelthorp, to-morrow, to meet Mrs. 
Thornton. It’s only a fad, and will absorb Miss Edith 
temporarily. You need have no fear. She will go to 
Newport all right.” 

Mrs. Brandt was overjoyed to hear this; for Edith had 
shown so much determination that it had given her no 
little anxiety. When she entered her home she met Edith, 
who said, as she laid Mary’s letter in her hands: 

am going down to Mabelthorp in the morning, if 


Mental Telepathy. 395 

you don’t object. Mrs. Thornton will be there, also 
Pansy.” 

shall be glad to have you go,” said Mrs. Brandt, as 
they separated; each a little surprised at the softened 
manner of the other. 


396 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

DICK, DONALD AND BENNIE VISIT THE TENEMENT DISTRICT. 

It turned out to be one of those awfully sweltering 
hot days that sometimes come in June. Dick and Bennie 
had turned into the Astoria. There they found Donald. 
After a little chat, and some cooling drinks, Dick as- 
tonished Bennie and Donald with the announcement that 
he was going to go down into the tenement quarters and 
visit his houses. They at once proposed accompanying 
him. Ordering an open cab they started. 

Of all the days in the year this was most fitting to see 
that quarter at its very worst. It was the first intense 
heat of the season, and it had driven every one to the 
streets and windows for a breath of air. There were pal- 
lid women and children, gasping from exhaustion. The 
place was alive with them. Children were swarming on 
the sidewalks, doorsteps, windows and fire-escapes — some 
laughing, more cursing and swearing; some too dejected 
to do either. They took a policeman into the cab, and 
driving to one of the largest and best tenement houses, 
they entered, followed by an army of curious, half-starved, 
pathetic children that the policeman had to drive back 
in order to keep the passage from being choked. 

They went to the top of the house, peered down nar- 


A Visit to the Tenement District. 397 

row airshafts, and into rooms that were like dungeons. 
The unspeakable and ghastly stenches and the filth were 
frightful. It was a glimpse straight down into Gehenna. 
They went into several buildings. They were the best 
in the district; yet they were all horrible. The houses 
were not so bad, but they were overcrowded, badly venti- 
lated, and unkept. 

In two rooms they found a family of nine persons, the 
mother sick in bed, a wan, wasted creature with a babe at 
her breast. 

In less than two hours she was in a clean bed in a hos- 
pital, and her children in the hands of a relief commit- 
tee. When the father came home at night he found the 
rooms vacated. 

It is no use to describe all that was to be seen. Those 
that have witnessed such sights know just what they are. 
To those who never saw them no pen can draw the pic- 
ture with sufficient vividness; for a pen cannot show you 
a genuine sigh, a tear, the hectic flush, nor the consump- 
tive cough, the muttered curse, nor the drunken leer. 

As they came from one of the houses out into the 
street, a dreadful commotion had taken place in a house 
opposite. Two men had got into a fight as to which of 
them should occupy the fire-escape. They both had been 
drinking, and it resulted in one stabbing the other, and 
ended in one being sent to the hospital, presumably to 
die, the other to jail ; and the end for him would be, most 
likely, the electric chair — and all for what? Because they 
had not a decent place to live in. They were men that 
worked at night and they had no place to get a moments 
peaceful rest, and they were mad for want of sleep. 

Dick made inquiries and learned that they were both 
honest, hard-working men of their kind, and were not 
naturally quarrelsome. 


398 Mary Starkweather. 

The excitement had brought throngs of people. Dick 
always declared that there were a million children. They 
swarmed like flies, and it took some time to get through 
the throng and away. 

When Dick and his companions started out in the af- 
ternoon they were supplied with well-padded pocket- 
books. When they returned they were penniless. They 
drove up to Dick’s Fifth Avenue house, and the three took 
dinner together. 

Dick telephoned for his agent, who soon made his ap- 
pearance, and he had a long interview with him. 

Bennie always declared that Dick spent the night at 
the telephone calling up and interviewing people, from 
the mayor down to the alderman of the district. At any 
rate, he at last got into communication with the heads of^ 
some relief committees, and sent some very explicit orders 
for relief in certain quarters. 

^^Just think if Miss Edith had been there,” said Ben- 
nie. 

^Tt makes me shudder to think of it,” replied Dick. 

^^Did you ever hear such cursing and swearing? — the 
women scolding and the children crying,” said Bennie. 

^^There is work there for the Salvation Army,” said 
Donald. 

^‘My Grod. ! do you think so ?” exclaimed Dick. don’t. 
If I had to live like that I’d swear too. I shall always 
remember that sight. It is my conception of what hell 
must be. Mrs. Thornton is right. It is me that need 
missionary work. Thank heaven that that man was not 
stabbed in my house. I feel, now that I have seen and 
know the condition of affairs, that I would be held re- 
sponsible for every oath if I did not remedy it so far as 
lies in my power. Do you know, if I were doing mission- 
ary work, I mean in a religious sense, I could never 


A Visit to the Tenement District. 399 

have the face to go into dens like those and ask the people 
to become better. My God! I wonder they do not rise 
like wolves and devour us who hoard up millions. The 
very fact that they do not, shows that there must be good 
in them.” 

^^And when war comes,” said Donald, ^^our armies are 
recruited from these same people. And that shows they 
are not cowards. But what is to be done? This is not 
the first time I have thought on these subjects ; and I have 
given and given in charity, but I have yet to see any good 
results from it.” 

^^So have I given. So has Bennie,” said Dick. “I 
donT know that I ever refused when any one came to me 
for money for charitable purposes; but that was all we 
did do. We gave money and never thought of it again. 
But I begin to see that Mrs. Thornton is right; that it 
is largely the fault of the rich.” 

^^And yet,” replied Donald, ^^a few days ago, when some 
one made a remark about the selfishness of the rich, she 
took it up at once. She said that while there was much 
apathy among the rich, hardly any one realized how much 
is given to the poor by the rich. Then she said: ‘Go to 
the homes of the poor on Christmas, New Year’s, Easter, 
or on the Fourth of J uly, and see the gifts that are poured 
in at these times by people with loving hearts who are 
anxious to share with the less fortunate.’ Then she men- 
tioned the immense sums of money raised in times of 
need, in famine and blizzards, and added, Tf you look 
into it you will find that the rich are far from selfish.’ ” 

“We are selfish, though,” said Bennie. “She always 
wants to be just. You can’t get her to cry down any one. 
She gives, but she looks after it and sees to it that it does 
some good. There is where we are selfish; we don’t do 
it, by Jove !” 


400 Mary Starkweather. 

laughed Dick, ^‘1 feel as if in some way I had 
gotten myself all mixed up lately, and especially to-day. 
I’m really in a muddle. I think I know very little about 
charity, and would rather drop the burden on some one 
else’s shoulders. I promise myself, though, to remedy the 
conditions in my own tenements at once. And I promise 
to give to Miss Edith and Mrs. Thornton carte blanche 
to my check book for any of their projects. But beyond 
that I don’t think I have any talent for this kind of thing. 
I should rather be excused. With Miss Edith I think it’s 
merely a fad that will soon blow over when she again gets 
into society. At present, she is overwhelmed with grati- 
tude at Pansy’s recovery.” 

don’t know,” said Donald. confess I have been 
greatly impressed by Mrs. Thornton and her methods.” 

^^So have I,” said Dick, ^^chiefly for this reason: She 
has not aspired to oddity nor made a nondescript of her- 
self, nor shut herself off from every one ; nor has she done 
any weird or uncanny thing. On the contrary, she is sim- 
ply natural. She is gay, good company, looks after her 
home, her husband, and child. She arranges all her out- 
side affairs at hours when Charles is not at home. Her 
household moves like well-oiled machinery. She would 
make a marital wilderness blossom.” 

"In speaking of her last night to my mother,” said Don- 
ald, "I was surprised at the view she took of it. She said, 
‘You must remember, Donald, that this is not a man- 
made theory. I believe implicity in everything Mrs. 
Thornton does. It is the Christian religion, pure and 
simple, as revealed by Christ Himself, nothing more, noth- 
ing less. The various books floating about are simply 
man’s opinions. Mrs. Thornton’s only guide is the Bible. 
All her methods are wholly embodied in the teachings of 
Christ. It is not dreamy Orientalism, but the Western 


A Visit to the Tenement District. 401 

religion we have always had, and which has been preached 
to us always. She puts a literal construction on it instead 
of figurative. That is all.^ My mother has the greatest 
admiration for Mrs. Thornton, and thinks her the grand- 
est woman she ever knew; and Annie worships her. And 
as I am fond of both of them, I am bound to partake of 
their admiration. But I’m going to say ^good night,’ and 
I will be on time in the morning.” 


402 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTEE XXIX. 

A VISIT TO GOLUCKIE. 

Mary was delighted to welcome them to Mabelthorp, 
the next day. When Dick and Bennie told her how they 
happened in on Edith, she laughed and said: 

“Mental telegraphy. The vibrations of her mind went 
out to yours. Thoughts are things, you know, and you 
caught her thought and responded.” 

It was a gay party that drove over to Goluckie the next 
afternoon. And itVas a surprise party after they arrived. 
The little village was certainly an oasis, with its clean 
streets, green trees, and V-shaped strips of cultivated land. 
Dick declared it looked like an intricate mosaic. 

The cottages had originally all been alike, three-gabled, 
two rooms above and three below, and painted white, with 
green blinds. To the majority of them had now been 
added two or more rooms and a porch ; and some had been 
painted some other color than white. Nearly all of them 
were well covered with vines and surrounded with trees 
and flower gardens; all were in perfect condition. There 
were no broken fences nor gates on one hinge. 

They made a complete circuit of the little village before 
alighting, Mary pointing out many spots of interest. Then 


A Visit to Goluckie. 


403 


they left the carriages and inspected the buildings. They 
went into the schools, churches, library, gymnasium, sew- 
ing school and cooking school, where they were treated 
to an impromptu lunch. 

What struck the visitors most was the expression of ab- 
solute adoration on the faces of every one for Mary. She 
seemed to know every one, and to be able to call them by 
name, and to have a word for each. 

They went into the lecture-room, at the end of which 
was a stage. They sat down for a rest and Mary said: 

^‘You see, in this way we can concentrate everything, 
making it easy for the most delicate mothers and young 
children to take advantage of all that is going on; and 
being so near, it is a stimulus to one another to do their 
best. They all have about the same start, and it’s won- 
derful how they try to help one another.” 

Dick, Bennie and Donald were loud in their praises, and 
they all expressed their great surprise at the perfection 
and completeness of it all. 

^^Yow,” said Edith, ^Ve have grown very curious, and 
have been wondering where you obtained your corps of 
teachers; for all this instruction requires trained minds.” 

‘'^My dear Edith,” replied Mary, ^hf I should tell you 
you could hardly believe it ; but as we are on a tour of in- 
vestigation- for facts, I suppose I must. At first it was 
a problem that gave me some anxiety ; but I concluded not 
to worry about it, and see if it would not solve itself. 
And it did. We felt that proper food and cleanliness 
should be the first requirements; that these people should 
know how to cook their simple food properly, and that 
they should be taught frugality. I found an old French- 
man that had been cook in a French hospital for years. 
He was lame and could not do much; but he understood 
how to cook hygienically, and was able to instruct others. 


404 Mary Starkweather. 

We put him at once in charge of the cooking school de- 
partment. His wife had been a trained nurse in the hos- 
pital in France. She was too old to do regular work, but 
she understood nursing; and with the help of her daugh- 
ter, whom she has trained, she has charge of our little hos- 
pital, where all our Goluckie children are born. As you 
have already seen, the hospital is a model. 

little queer old doctor, but with a world of sense, 
we made inspector of the homes. At first he made the 
rounds daily; now once a week is sufficient. 

^^An old Welshman, who has a voice like a de Eeszke 
and as true, has charge of the singing school. He works 
all day. He is a natural born singer and instructor. His 
happiest moments are when drilling his classes and show- 
ing them off in the choirs on Sundays. And there are 
some really fine voices. 

^^We have a lively, funny, little Frenchman, who jumps 
round like a cricket. He is our dancing master. He at- 
tends to his business, a little dry goods fehop, through the 
day, and teaches dancing in the evening. There were any 
number of splendid seamstresses who were capable of 
teaching others. So, it was not difficult to establish a 
sewing school. 

‘‘Among these people are some natural musicians, and 
we have a very creditable band that meets - certain nights 
for practice. There is - also a dramatic club, now, and 
as you see, they have here quite a respectable little stage 
with a number of scenes painted by some one of them- 
selves. For I would have you know that these people, 
though deadly poor, almost starving, were not all igno- 
rant. They only lacked opportunity. The priest, who 
has charge of the Catholic Church, and the Protestant 
minister, were sent us from the city churches. They also 
have charge of and work in the schools. At first we hired 


A Visit to Goluckie. 


405 


several teachers. Now, some of the community girls have 
been trained as teachers, and the places are filled by them. 
We have a man with us who was once a presiding judge — 
a man of superior education. And his wife is a refined, 
cultivated, capable woman. He was run over by a wagon 
and so badly injured that he had to have his foot ampu- 
tated. And they kept losing until they had nothing left. 
They had one daughter whose husband was killed in an 
explosion. She was very delicate and the shock killed her. 
She left two children, boys, for these old people to pro- 
vide for. They were absolutely starving when we brought 
them here. The children were wonderfully brainy little 
fellows. The eldest was in his thirteenth year. Their 
only teachers had been their grandparents. The old 
judge has been invaluable in this community. He talks 
well, and every winter gives a course of lectures. He is 
a splendid disciplinarian, and he teaches in the school, 
and the elder boy. is now an assistant. Both boys are now 
reading law with their grandfather. And their grand- 
mother has grown handsome. She is the grande dame of 
the community, and it was through her that the kinder- 
garten was organized. She also teaches young girls many 
useful things. 

“Some of these people have developed a wonderful 
amount of genius. Take^ for instance, the cottage to the 
right. You all spoke of its artistic beauty, as we drove 
into the community. That family numbered ten, and a 
cottage of five rooms was rather small in the summer. 
That man built a dining-room and kitchen out of the 
merest scraps. He first put the posts down and made a 
rough framework of any kind of bits of boards he could 
find, and of dry goods boxes. Then he and the children 
gathered twigs and branches in the woods, and nailed 
them on in the artistic manner that you noticed. He 


4o 6 Mary Starkweather. 

gathered old fruit cans, melted them and got the tin for 
the roof, and painted it. This roof has stood the weather, 
perfectly, for four years. He lined the inside walls with 
cloth and papered them. You spoke of the fence. He 
built it from stones and pebbles that he and his children 
gathered from their land. His doing this started the 
rest, and you have seen the results. You see, these things 
become contagious. 

^^We had one man, a down-east Yankee who could 
handle tools. He made his kitchen and dining-room into 
perfect gems of convenience, cupboards, closets, and shelves 
galore. That was the beginning of beautifying the 
kitchens. They often exchange work, and in this way 
they can be of great assistnace to one another. 

“We take pains to see that they get materials cheaply, 
and encourage them as much as possible in all they under- 
take. When one starts in to do a thing they all watch 
for the result. It is a great incentive. 

“You see, every home has its little lawn and flower gar- 
dens. They are always striving for the best. I honestly 
believe they have so far advanced that they would con- 
sider it a disgrace to fail in not getting as good a yield 
from what they have as their neighbors; and the children 
are as ambitious, if not more so, than the parents. 

“What I have told you gives you merely an idea of 
what these people have been able to do. You would be 
surprised at the real genius that has been developed. 
Some of them make a good deal of money out of things 
they make nights; and they are now beginning to do 
a great deal of sewing and making of fancy-work 
for the large stores in the city. Many ladies in Clinton 
are beginning to send all their white work out here, as 
we have developed some of the daintiest seamstresses. 

“We have a perfect system of payments, small but suf- 


A Visit to Goluckie. 


407 


ficient, for instructions received. Over all of these, and in 
supreme control, is Mr. Austin, whom you met yesterday. 
He is a man with few equals for excellent judgment, good 
government, charity, and kindliness of manner. 

"Now, this is only a little synopsis of this community,’^ 
said Mary, with a far-away look in her eyes. "But if you 
could know the majority of these people, of their little 
deeds of kindness, of the good that is in them ; could you 
see, how in some, ambitions were renewed, in others born, 
in this hope of a home of their own ; how hearts that were 
numb from cold neglect and suffering, began to stir and 
glow, and smiles kindled where tears have been, you would 
not then be surprised that our hearts are set upon push- 
ing on this work. It was an experiment, but I feel it has 
been a successful one. It will only be a little while when 
they will have paid for everything and own the town 
themselves. It will not belong to some one else; but it 
will be their own, and the discipline through which they 
will have passed during these years, will enable them to 
conduct their own affairs. 

"Now, we want to invest this money in another com- 
munity, and on a somewhat larger and more improved 
scale. It is still a young movement, and will require the 
concerted efforts of those interested to bring it to the state 
of perfection we desire. We would like to do for every 
suffering soul; but, of course, that is impossible. The 
thing we try to do is this : When we take hold of a person 
we try to hold him up until he gets his feet on solid 
ground, and not let him slip back into the slough from 
which he has been dragged, to die or for some one else 
to pull out.’^ 

At this moment a bell began to ring. 

"There!” said Mary, rising, "that is the six o’clock 
bell. I had no idea it was so late. We shall just have 


4o 8 Mary Starkweather. 

time to reach home for dinner;” and she led the way out 
across a green plot of grass to their conveyances. 

As they came into the broad drive at Mabelthorp, they 
saw Charles crossing the lawn. Dick, who had been silent 
for some time, said to Edith: 

love to look at Thornton. His walk is positive po- 
etry. It has the swing of a man with a sound body and 
one who is a stranger to pain and ennui/* 

Edith glanced at Dick, who at that moment was the 
personification of ennui as he lounged indolently on the 
seat opposite, as she replied sarcastically, with slightly 
curling lip: 

^‘^What luxuriance of fancy ! Eeally, was not it an ef- 
fort for you to make such a long speech? Would it not 
be well for you, to look into his methods for perfecting 
himself? It might wake you up a bit. You are too in- 
dolent for anything.” 

^^Thanks awfully,” drawled Dick. “I shall take your 
advice and interview him on the subject.” 

Edith was a spirited idol of society, and said what she 
liked. She had had her disappointment, and had been 
disillusioned in regard to one man; and judged them all 
alike. She had a train of admirers wherever she went, 
but she had little use for them, and least of all for Dick. 
He exasperated her beyond endurance by his nonchalance. 
She could not remember when she first met Dick. It 
seemed to her that she had known him always. In one 
way, she liked him; in another, she did not. She tried to 
goad him with keen satire and mischievous sophistries. 
But it was all to no purpose. He never got angry; he 
never seemed to care. Edith thought many times it would 
be a satisfaction if she could once rouse him sufficiently 
to get him into a temper. However, with all her sarcasm, 
Edith was a girl that interested one almost painfully. 


A Visit to Goluckie. 


409 


You could hardly understand why. Dick watched her, 
noted her raven hair, and the violet eyes whose changing 
expression, within the past few days, had, at times, both 
startled and surprised him. Just at this moment Dick 
was not lethargic, as she supposed. The afternoon had 
made a great impression on him. He had been contrast- 
ing, in his mind, the sight of to-day with the hell of the 
tenement district. His mind was chaos if his body was 
calm. From that thought he had turned to quietly study- 
ing her. He was intensely artistic, and her rare, splendid 
beauty pleased him; and lounging on the seat opposite 
her he thought if Prometheus could touch her and give 
her a soul she would be perfect. 

Dick was not in love with Edithj and he well knew 
he was a cipher she could substract from her life with- 
out loss. They were friends, royal friends, in the dance, 
the promenade, the drawing-room. Outside of that 
neither thought of the other. But as he sat there, his 
mind recalled an event of three years previous, when one 
of the men of Gotham’s smart set became deeply inter- 
ested in one of the ^^uds” of the season. To this man, so 
difficult to please, she was unusual. He watched her 
closely for weeks, and felt sHe was different from those 
he usually met. He determined to speak to her, to tell 
her of the interest she had awakened in him — an inter- 
est he had never felt for any woman before. He ap- 
proached her late one night, at a ball. Unfortunately, 
she had at that moment an expression of utter weariness. 
She had danced night after night, for weeks, throughout 
the long, gay season. She was sleepy and cross and 
wished to go home. At last she arose and went to the 
cloak-room. When she emerged she was cloaked and 
hooded. She passed down the long stairs with a slow, list- 
less tread. The gentleman awaited her. The glowing. 


410 Mary Starkweather. 

eager look in his face died away as he watched her descend 
with wearied air; and he silently, and without a word, 
offered her his arm and led her out, down the steps, across 
the strip of crimson carpet, to her carriage, into which 
she stepped and sank wearily back among the cushions. 
Still silent, he reached out his hand and took hers for a 
brief instant and pressed it lightly. There was no re- 
sponse. He dropped it, stepped back, the carriage door 
shut with a slam and the horses sped away into the 
night. 

He shrugged his shoulders and muttered: /^Soulless, a 
thing of wax, moulded and calloused already by this life 
we all lead.'’^ 

He entered his carriage, and was soon in his rooms, 
where he resolved to forget her entirely. 

Soon after she went abroad, and rumors reached him 
that she had vanquished an English duke and was soon to 
be a bride. This news saddened him a little, for he knew 
this duke and of his morganatic wife and several children. 
Had not his own sister eaten her heart out under like 
conditions ? 

^^They sell their birthright for a mess of pottage,” he 
muttered; then yawned and went to his club and tried to 
forget all about it. 

Then Madame Rumor announced that the wedding was 
off ; that the prospective bride had changed her mind and 
was returning to America. 

Had she heard of the morganatic marriage and re- 
belled? He did not know. 

He met her again in society. She was far more beau- 
tiful than ever. He approached her with some curiosity. 
She greeted him kindly, hut she was ice. She had grown 
imperious, haughty, and there was a look in her eyes 
he never had seen before, almost like one haunted bv a 


A Visit to Goluckie. 41 1 

specter. It awakened in him a strange sympathy. Her 
conversation was interspersed with the finest, keenest sat- 
ire. Every word seemed to be a covert sneer when talk- 
ing to gentlemen. He felt it. It chilled him. He lost 
all interest in her save as a society friend. 

And she? Well, she had never given him a thought be- 
yond a drawing-room acquaintance. When she met this 
duke she did not think of his title. He was handsome, 
cultured, distinguished, and he made the most ardent pro- 
fessions of attachment. In her heart she believed him 
endowed with every noble attribute, and she loved him 
sincerely and truly; loved him as a man and for what 
she believed him to be. She had been wounded when he 
began to talk about settlements; and when, by accident, 
she learned of the morganatic marriage, she was both 
shocked and horrified. Then she began to realize it was 
not love for her, hut the many millions she would in- 
herit that attracted him. She had the strength and good 
sense, in spite of the protestations of loyalty from his 
grace, to break the engagement at once, and put the 
ocean between them. But having truly loved this man, it 
had left its impression. 

The girl was Edith Brandt. The man that had watched 
and studied and fancied, at one time, he loved her, was 
Eichard Braintree. 


412 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

A VISIT TO BENNIE’S LAND. 

On the morrow they set out to visit Bennie’s land. 
It was delightfully cool. Donald declared the day was 
specially created perfect for their benefit. It was a 
pleasant little journey by rail. They had telegraphed for 
carriages, that met them at the station of a village on the 
outskirts of Bennie’s land, of which there were nearly 
three thousand acres, cut up into farms, part of it under 
cultivation and part not. It was well located, well wa- 
tered, and easy of access to one of the main railway lines 
between Philadelphia and New York, giving access to two 
of the best markets for produce. 

Mary was happily disappointed in the land. It was 
so much superior to what she had expected from what 
Bennie had told her. She had made quite a study of these 
things, and her quick eye soon took in the possibilities, 
and she began pointing out the great advantages, and what 
could be done and how to do it. Donald was quick to 
grasp her ideas, and made some excellent suggestions 
that were afterward acted upon. Mary showed them 
wherein the land was equal if not superior in its advan- 
tages to that of Goluckie. Bennie was delighted and ca- 


A Visit to Bennie’s Land. 413 

pered about like a child. Dick woke up. Mary was en- 
thusiastic, and Edith, Pansy and Annie seemed to catch 
her spirit, and they all began to be very merry as they 
drove from point to point. They dispensed with cere- 
mony and laughed and sang and played pranks like chil- 
dren. Pansy was happiest of all. It was the first day’s 
outing she had enjoyed for over a year. She never had 
been formally brought ^^out,” and had not seen a great 
deal of society; but she was now to be presented the com- 
ing season. Edith and her mother still looked upon Pansy 
as a little girl, although she was nineteen years old. She 
was certainly very witching, childlike, and capricious, one 
moment roguishly mischievous, the next demurely seri- 
ous. The golden rings of her hair were clinging to her 
forehead. At times, her dark liquid eyes seemed melting ; 
again, such a saucy, coaxing expression would dance into 
her face, and her lips always seemed begging for a kiss. 

Donald had never seen much of Pansy until the last 
few days. Now, he covertly watched her, and when the 
whole battery of her smiles, curls, and dimples was 
brought to bear upon him, he actually began to betray 
symptoms of heart disease. 

There were several fine gardens and orchards on the 
land. They raided cherry trees and pilfered strawberries. 
They came to a little spring that was pouring from a 
spout beneath a rock into a little pool below. At the 
sight and sound of the water they all became thirsty, and 
while others were trying to improvise cups out of leaves, 
Edith forgot her dignity and in a frolicsome mood made 
a cup of her hands and drank. Then, offering it to Dick 
he drank, as he knelt on the grass that was soft and elas- 
tic ; and he swore that the cup was alabaster and the water 
nectar. And what he failed to drink she wickedly poured 
on his head. And when she exclaimed at the sight of 


414 Mary Starkweather. 

some beautiful wild flowers on a high rock above, he risked 
his neck to secure them for her. She watched him in 
some surprise. Could this be Dick, molluscan Dick? 

They all left the spot with regret, Dick saying to 
Edith : 

^‘This place will always be sacred to me, a sort of shrine. 
I think I shall buy it and build a temple here for period- 
ical retreats where I can meditate on my sins.’’ 

“Do,” said Edith, “you need it.” 

Edith was accustomed to hearing oceans of such talk, 
and the only impression it made upon her was surprise 
that he had the energy to say silly things. She knew 
it was social not heart sentiment. 

Edith had been delegated to find a name for the new 
community, and it was puzzling her a good deal, as she 
was trying to think how she could connect the names of 
the three promoters in it. 

At this moment she and Dick came up to where the 
rest were standing, ready to enter the carriages. They 
were having a dispute as to whether a certain point on a 
high rock was a part of the rock or a bird; Donald de- 
claring it was a part of the rock. 

“If I had a gun,” declared Annie, “I could make that 
rock fly.” 

“Then it would be a sham rockT exclaimed Pansy. 

“There 1 I have it, I have it!” exclaimed Edith with 
much vehemence, and with such a look of exultation on 
her face, as of a great discovery, that the words of railery 
died away on the lips of those present, and they forgot 
their dispute and looked at her inquiringly. 

“You have it?” repeated Pansy, ‘^hat is it? You 
look as if you had discovered the North Pole.” 

“Comey Edith,” said Mary. “You see we are consumed 
with curiosity. What is it?” 


A Visit to Bennies Land. 415 

“A name for the new colony, ‘Shamrock,’ three in one. 
Don’t yon see?” 

A shout of laughter greeted her announcement. Dick 
dolfed his hat and bid her the “top of the mornin’ !” 
Donald began to dance an Irish jig, and Annie and Ben- 
nie to sing “Saint Patrick’s Day in the Morning,” beat- 
ing an accompaniment with sticks on the carriage wheels; 
while Pansy was curtseying and declaring: 

“It is a foin intellect she has altogether, to be afther 
thinking of sich an iligant name for the Oirish settle- 
ment.” 

Mary laughed at the frolic until the tears came. Edith 
stepped into the open carriage from which she made a 
speech, declaring she was entitled to a hearing from the 
august body. She stated she had puzzled her brain as 
to how she could incorporate the three names into one. 
The subject had been so ponderous she had grown pale 
and thin with the effort; and until a few moments ago 
had got no further than Benniedick. As she was bound 
to have a name, and though it would be a dreadful thing 
to do, still she had decided to kill Donald as the only 
way out of the difficulty. (Groans from the house.) 
Now that his life had been spared (loud applause), 
through this marvelous inspiration (more applause and 
cries of “Hear, hear, hear!”) they had no appreciation. 

She sat down with a very womanly pout on her lips 
and an air of offended dignity all over her, amidst shouts 
of applause and protestations to the contrary of her state- 
ment. 

Dick constituted himself chairman and called the house 
to order. Donald made a touching speech, that is, he 
touched his eyes frequently with the back of his hand. 
Among other things, he said he had never been able to 
appreciate the story of Pocahontas and John Smith be- 


4i 6 Mary Starkweather. 

fore. He finally sat down on the carriage steps, amidst 
groans, sobs and hisses from the audience. 

Dick again called order and moved that the name of 
Shamrock be adopted for the new colony, and a vote of 
thanks be tendered Miss Brandt for her mighty mental 
effort. Mary seconded the motion; which being put be- 
fore the house w^as carried unanimously by a standing 
vote. And happiness was restored, though Pansy de- 
clared it was a forced vote, as there was no place to sit 
down. 

Bennie now announced that he was starving. And driv- 
ing in the direction of a thick clump of trees, Donald 
exclaimed : 

‘What light through yonder timber breaks T It is a 
spread, ye gods, it is a spread !” 

“Manna in the wilderness — a miracle, a miracle 
shouted Dick. 

And sure enough, there was Dick’s butler, with two as- 
sistants, and a feast fit for the gods already spread upon 
the grass. What rejoicing! 

I propose we shall fittingly and gastronomicaly cele- 
brate this occasion,” said Bennie, as they settled them- 
selves around the snowy cloth. 

How they did eat ! In the language of Dominie Samp- 
son, their “appetites were prodigious.” Jokes and stories 
were told, toasts were drunk, amid peals and shouts of 
laughter. They were merciless toward one another in 
their mirth and raillery. 

Is it not strange how laughter becomes contagious, and 
sensible people laugh at the merest trifles? There was 
nothing very witty said or done, yet they laughed immod- 
erately at the simplest things. The pessimists would 
have had no use for this crowd. They were ton vivants, 
pure and simple. 


A Visit to Bennie’s Land. 417 

Suddenly Donald began to cough spasmodically^ saying 
he had a bone in his throat, and declaring that he was 
dying. 

“All right. Go right along and die, we won’t disturb 
you,” unfeelingly said Dick, as he continued to devour his 
food. 

“No,” said Annie, “we haven’t time to save you now. 
We’ll see you later.” 

“We will report it justifiable homicide,” said Bennie, 
helping himself liberally to pressed chicken. 

Pansy began to fan him with a tooth-pick, and Mary 
inquired sympathetically where the bone was. Donald 
gasped and declared he felt in it his oesophagus. 

“What’s that? In what part of your anatomy doth it 
lie?” asked Bennie, dropping his fork. 

“Sack it and find out,” came laconically from Dick, as 
he handed Donald the butter knife. 

Edith proposed giving him an X-ray instead. 

“How do you take them?” asked Pansy. 

“His taste is delicate. Better put it in a capsule,” re- 
plied Annie, as she nibbled at a chicken bone held daintily 
between her thumb and finger. 

Mary offered him her vinaigrette with one hand, and a 
glass of wine with the other. 

By this time Donald had recovered, and taking both 
the wine and vinaigrette declared to Mary she was the 
only one that had any sympathy, and that it was the 
second time to-day he owed his life to a woman. 

“If you get up theatricals on short notice, or employ 
the services of an inquisitive bone to explore your throat, 
and at such inopportune moments, you mustn’t expect 
sympathy from this crowd,” remorselessly replied Annie. 
“Even our hands are too busy to respond with applause.” 

She verified this, at the moment, by having both hands 


41 8 Mary Starkweather. 

occupied dissecting some intricate, delicious looking mys- 
tery on her plate. 

^^This is what I call a royal spread,’’ said Mary. 

^^So it is,” assented Annie. 

^‘Let us found a Gordon-Barry-Braintree Kingdom in 
honor of the occasion,” said Pansy; ^^and the Shamrock 
shall be the crest emblazoned on the coat-of-arms for this 
illustrious house.” 

A shout of applause followed this suggestion, whereat 
Pansy arose and made a sweeping curtsey in acknowledg- 
ment. 

“How brilliant! For originality the Brandts hold the 
ace of trumps to-day,” said Bennie. 

By this time, as Donald put it, the hunger was gradu- 
ally disappearing from their faces. Edith made a wreath 
and placed it on Dick’s head, saying : 

“Unlike Casar on the Lupercal he does not wave away 
the crown.” 

But Pansy dubbed him Apollo, and gave him the top 
of a basket for a lyre, at which Dick begged Edith to 
strike that they might, for once, hear true music. 
But she declared to his Olympian splendidness that there 
was no note that could bring forth tirutli from the Brain- 
tree Her. 

“Ah, woe is me!” exclaimed Dick. “Even my veracity 
is most insiduously attacked. Have pity, carrissima ; don’t 
be so merciless. Can’t you come to my rescue, Mrs. Thorn- 
ton ?” 

“Your only hope is in patience and the final triumph of 
justice,” laughed Mary. 

“Oh, spare 3^our sympathy!” cried Edith; 'file is not 
wounded. He is a modern Achilles and has no vulnerable 
spot.” 


A Visit to Bennie’s Land. 419 

^‘Yes, I have,” gaspingly replied Dick, sighing like a 
south wind. 

Edith lifted her hands in protest, and exclaimed im- 
poringly: 

^^Don’t sigh like that, I beg of you. Some one might 
make a mistake and think you had a heart.” 

Dick picked up a small olive stiletto and meditatively 
contemplating it, replied, assuming a saddened tone of 
voice and shaking his head from side to side : 

“Ah, these are the needle-pricks of life. This is the 
feminine incredulity that tries men^s souls. The proud 
woe-man’s contumely, for which Hamlet suggests the rem- 
edy of a bare bodkin.” 

“How deeply metaphysical and brilliant,” said Edith 
mockingly. “Shall we attribute it to the champagne?” 

“A better stimulant may be found nearer home,” replied 
Dick, meaningly. 

^‘That’s not bad, Dick,” laughed Mary, “although a little 
plain.” 

All this was a delightful change in Edith. She was 
playfully irresistible. Mary was glad to see it. 

“Here ! Give his Olympian faithfulness another pate. 
Perhaps it may keep him quiet,” laughed Donald. 

“It is a consummation devoutly to be wished,” replied 
Edith, putting the pate on Dick’s plate, who devoured it 
without replying. 

“The very silence of some people is encouraging,” said 
Edith, in a mocking tone of relief. 

At this moment. Pansy’s voice floated from the other 
side of the spread: 

“Perhaps Mrs. Thornton is the Moses to lead us out of 
the wilderness.” 

“Moses who?” asked Bennie. 


420 Mary Starkweather. 

Bennie! Didn^t you ever read the Bible?” asked 

Annie. 

^'Oh, of course I have!” asserted Bennie confidently; 
'^but when you spoke I wasn^t thinking of the Bible. Of 
course I know Moses was one of the twelve apostles.” 

A shout of laughter greeted Bennie’s declaration, and 
Mary said: 

‘‘Bennie, you have established yourself forevermore as 
a Bible student.” 

But it struck Dick as exceedingly funny, and he laughed 
hysterically, choking on the last morsel of the pate until 
he was almost black in the face. Donald began to thump 
him on the back, saying: 

“It’s now your turn to choke.” 

Bennie saw that he had made a mistake, and just at 
that moment he had no fancy for being made ridiculous. 
And there hashed into his mind one of the stories that 
he remembered reading when a child, that had something 
about Moses in it. Without premeditation he said: 

“See how it affects Dick when the infant bull rushes. 
You see I was created to keep Dick from dying of torpor. 
Therefore I am compelled to exert myself.” 

As Dick pet name for Bennie was, Mon enfant, his 
slight allusion to bullrushes and infants got him gracefully 
out of the dilemma, and again Dick thought: 

“He knows more than I gave him credit for.” 

They lingered long over the repast ; then the gentlemen 
“did a smoke,” Annie Barry lighting a match for Bennie, 
and holding it in her dainty fingers while he puffed away, 
trying to look in her eyes at the same time. 

Annie had beautiful gray eyes, rather thoughtful, and a 
clear broad forehead with distinct, finely marked eye- 
brows. She had the warmest, purest heart, so like her big 
brother Donald, 


A Visit to Bennie’s Land. 


421 


The sky was sapphire, the clouds pearly white. The 
clump of trees was on a high piece of ground, and the little 
village could be seen in the distance. The sun was gleam- 
ing like gold in the west and gradually sinking to rest. 

So many times we think life is barren of instincts for 
good when they are really only dormant; and need only 
persistent effort to wake them to life. But one must first 
possess these instincts before they can be used as a power 
for good. 

Who can comprehend the influence of a woman like 
Mary, the measure of benefit such a soul as hers can be? 
So much lies in laughter ; and they had laughed like chil- 
dren. They had forgotten forms and ceremonies, and were 
simply natural. Mary felt they needed just such a com- 
munion with nature to break up the purposeless existence 
which she was sure was disgusting some of them. For 
had not Bennie and Edith demonstrated it ? She felt sure 
that hearts full of gushing tenderness were concealed un- 
der this frozen crust of conventionality ; and she felt, now, 
as she looked at Edith, that she already was changed even 
in countenance. And as for Dick, how changed those 
habits that had almost become second nature to him. If 
this dormant nature could only assert itself! Perhaps it 
was not too late. She had been watching him all the af- 
ternoon, and began to be very hopeful of him. 

The atmosphere was beginning to grow dreamy and po- 
etic, and Mary divined what was most required, and did 
not hurry them. She had been in a dreamy reverie, and 
was now recalled by Donald^s voice saying of some min- 
ister in Texas: 

^^Yes, his battle-cry was: ‘Prepare to meet your Gawd.'’ 
He always gave me a pain. He was a regular old Bible- 
mauler — one of those smiling, smirking, hand-shaking 
cusses that you couldn’t get rid of, and longed to kill.” 


422 


Mary Starkweather. 

^^Yes V’ exclaimed Annie, “and his wife was worse than 
he. She did missionary work, and she wore a petrified 
grin, and ” 

“And a black bombazine dress with green strings cut 
bias,” Incidly interrupted Donald. 

“And they used to come to our house,” continued An- 
nie, “and you should have seen Donald! He could scent 
them a mile off. You would have thought he had hydro- 
phobia.” Ajid her laughter rang out like silver bells. 
“They had an ungovernable affection for plum cake, pud- 
dings and pies that they could devour in incalculable quan- 
tities, although they always declared they ‘dasn’T eat 
much.” 

“They must have been dreams,” said Bennie. 

“They were,” replied Donald, “the kind that make you 
leave your bed and walk. I used to wish I was the in- 
ventor of nitro-glycerine or some other explosive. I would 
have taken care that there was an accident.” 

“She was so affectionate. She just adored Donald. He 
used to sigh for a lodge in some vast wilderness ;” and An- 
nie’s merry laugh rang out again at the recollection. 

“They were such awful bores. I would hate an arch- 
angel if he were a bore^^’ declared Donald. 

“That’s the trouble,” said Dick. ^ “So few people are 
really congenial. They are bores in some shape, either as 
hypocrites, gossips, misers, or ” 

“Something, something — always something,” chimed in 
Bennie, as he lounged on the grass near Mary ; and turn- 
ing to her he said : “What is your honest opinion of man- 
kind, Mrs. Thornton? I do not mean individually, but 
collectively, as a whole, the entire mass of humanity in 
common.” 

“If I were sitting on a high pinnacle and could sur- 
vey the whole of mankind, I might become pessimistic,” 


A Visit to Bennie’s Land. 423 

replied Mary. ^^But judging from my limited view I am 
very optimistic, and think there is much more good than 
bad in the world. She hesitated a moment and then con- 
tinued thoughtfully: 

^‘1 sometimes look upon people as a vast body of ore 
taken from the mine. The ore looks dull and dark, and it 
seems impossible that it is of value; but we know there is 
value incrusted and imbedded in it, and that the gold and 
gems are there, and must be separated from the dross. 
Some of the ore may be refractory and hard to handle; 
and it depends upon the means that are used and the per- 
sistent efforts or desires of the extractors. But if the right 
method is followed, a rich reward is theirs, and they study 
the best methods. Emerson says that a man is like a bit 
of Labrador spar which has no lustre, as you turn it in 
your hand, until you come to a particular angle. Then it 
shows a deep and beautiful color. What you think of him 
depends so much on how you look at him.” 

“Then you think there is good in every one?” asked 
Donald. 

“I do. We cannot all see alike. You might find it 
where I might not, and vice-versa. Our methods might be 
different. We must each take from life that which appeals 
most strongly to us ; then it becomes a truth to us.” 

“I think in the light of what Mrs. Thornton has said 
that your arguments are becoming dull,” said Edith. 

“Which, I presume you mean as a mild hint that we’d 
better adjourn,” answered Dick, rising. 

They became enthusiastic over the gorgeous sunset and 
the serenely beautiful twilight. 

Dick had one grand accomplishment. He could sing. 
His voice was a rich, deep baritone. He loved music and 
had cultivated his voice from pure love of it. And now 
Pansy began warbling like a bird, and Dick joined her; 


424 Mary Starkweather. 

and in a minute they were all singing. They were a con- 
genial and friendly party, and as they drove back to the 
station there was no complaint of heat or fatigue or dust. 

Annie wore a wreath of wild flowers on her hat that 
Bennie had artistically woven and placed there, and Pansy 
bore aloft a great branch from a cherry tree, black with 
cherries. Dick and Edith were silently enjoying the beauty 
of the evening. The cool twilight shadows were creep- 
ing grayly on. Somehow, Dick never forgot that day. 

That night. Pansy put her arms around Edith and said 
as she kissed her: 

^Tt has been the happiest day of my life.^^ 

That evening Mary and Edith had their first long and 
confidential talk. Edith had been wavering and doubting : 
one minute strong and hopeful, the next, weak, cynical 
and vacillating. She came away from Mary strengthened 
and resolute. She began to see things in a plain, practical 
way, as Mary saw them, and to see among other things 
where her work lay. Mary had said: 

^^One thing that has amazed and astonished me is how 
easy it is to influence men that I actually thought so sunk 
in social apathy that there seemed no hope for them. Can 
you not see, dear, what a field you have to work in? I 
often talk to Charles about it, and he sees it too.” 

Here, then, was Edith’s work. She would influence 
those around her. She would study Mary’s methods and 
follow them. She would do what her hands found to do. 
She had felt all the time that it was only a temporary 
spasm on the part of Dick, Bennie, and Donald; but she 
determined to try to make it enduring. 

The next morning they all met in the library. Charles 
and Mr. Austin were there; and the whole plans for the 
new colony were thoroughly gone over, and matured with 
a celerity that was surprising. 


A Visit to Bennie’s Land. 


425 


Mary had suggested that Bennie and Dick take more 
time and think it over ; and she had thought that when they 
saw the figures and found out the large amount of money 
that would be required in buildings and improvements, 
they might perhaps take her advice. But no, Bennie was 
eager to begin at once, and he was seconded by Dick and. 
Donald. When Mary suggested they use the money that 
had come in from Doluckie, that was now in the bank, 
Dick said emphatically: 

^^No. We are going to come to you for counsel, and 
we know you will give it to us freely; but we will raise 
the funds ourselves. We are not going to trouble Charles, 
as we know he has his hands full with his political affairs. 
But we shall claim the advice and co-operation of the 
general and Mr. Austin.” 

So, it was settled. And in the afternoon they all went 
up to the city to remain a day before returning to Willow 
Springs. 

The next morning Mary called at one of the hospitals 
to see a woman who was a sister of one of the young men 
that were staying at the cottages. As she sat talking to 
her she heard some one say : 

‘^You want to give her special attention. Braintree, 
the young millionaire, sent her here, and bespoke our best 
efforts for herself and child. She is very weak. It seems 
she was an opera singer.” 

For a minute Mary turned sick. She was fond of Dick ; 
but these words, woman, child, opera singer. She felt she 
could guess the rest. She had looked around and saw it 
was one of the ward physicians speaking to the nurse. 
When he left, she went to the nurse and said: 

am a friend of Mr. Braintree. Will you take me to 
the woman he sent here?” 

Without a word the nurse led her to a curtained recess 


426 Mary Starkweather. 

at the end of the ward, and there on a bed lay a pale, wan 
woman about forty years of age. Mary felt there must 
be some mistake. But a few questions soon put her into 
possession of all the facts of the case. She had sought this 
woman, thinking she was some poor, deceived, unfortu- 
nate, whom she might befriend; and with a pang at her 
heart as she thought of Dick. 

When she learned all, and remembered that Dick had 
not even mentioned the circumstance of his visiting his 
tenements, her heart told her, then, that under his apa- 
thetic manner there was more than was apparent on the 
surface. She was quite overcome by the knowledge and 
the tears streamed from her eyes. 

^^Dear, dear old Dick,” thought Mary. will never 
doubt you again.” 

After doing what she could to insure further comfort 
for the sick woman, Mary hastened to Edith to tell her of 
her discovery and to laud Dick. 


On Board the “White Pigeon. 


j} 


427 


CHAPTER XXXL 

ON BOARD THE “WHITE PIGEON.’’ 

Dice: had declared he would give money and let some 
one else do the managing; but he seemed to forget all 
about it,, and went to work in earnest with Bennie and 
Donald. Donald had had some practical experience; but 
Dick and Bennie were absolutely like children. Xo doubt 
thousands of dollars would have been squandered in ac- 
quiring the knowledge necessary for such a stupendous 
undertaking, had it not been for General Starkweather and 
Mr. Austin. Their advice was invaluable. They had 
studied ways and means of getting the best results from 
money expended, and knew just where to secure competent 
and conscientious help. 

Bennie and Donald spent the summer at Newport with 
Dick on his steam yacht White Pigeon. Frequently, after 
some brilliant dinner, ball, or other entertainment, where 
they had been the gayest of the gay, in the still hours of the 
morning, when they were asleep on board, like a carrier 
dove, the White Pigeon could be seen speeding to New 
York City at the rate of twenty knots an hour. 

There they spent hours with the general and their con- 
tractors over their plans and in devising the best system 


428 Mary Starkweather. 

for the work they had in hand. They seemed very much 
in earnest, and the general watched them with some 
curiosity. 

It must be confessed they were the last men one would 
pick out as philanthropists. To see Bennie with his 
dainty, dapper figure and smiling face, as he went sing- 
ing and whistling, with his hat set jauntily on his head, 
swinging his little rattan cane; or to see Dick or Donald 
rise, shake down their perfectly creased trousers, pull 
down their waistcoats, set their hats carefully on their 
heads and saunter carelessly toward the Casino, the ob- 
served of all observers, was a sight that was totally foreign 
to all preconceived ideas of philanthropy; and caused one 
to doubt the result. But in spite of the fact that they 
made a joke of it, Dick declaring that they were tottering 
on in the blindness of their own destiny, they demonstrated 
that their enthusiasm was not ephemeral ; for, as day suc- 
ceeded day, and flew into weeks and months, they amply 
proved their staying power. They did not seem to under- 
stand the word, surrender. They became more and more 
absorbed, and before the summer was over, they each had 
a fund of practical knowledge of which they had never 
before dreamed. It was fast making solid men of all 
three. 

It is really wonderful what determination, backed by 
plenty of money, can accomplish. As soon as the ground 
was properly laid out at the new Shamrock Community 
they commenced to build; and before the first snow fall 
the most of the grading was done, water and gas pipes 
laid; and the place had assumed quite the appearance of 
a well-regulated village. 

The hope and the intention were to get as many of the 
people as possible into their homes by mid-winter, so that 
they would be ready for the spring work. 


On Board the “White Pigeon.” 429 

The contractors were pledged to secrecy, and, as yet no 
one knew who the promoters were. They rather thought 
it would be a great joke to spring it suddenly on their 
friends, after it had become a well-defined fact. 

While Dick was absorbed in this project, he did not 
neglect his resolve to have his own tenement houses put in 
good condition. They were simply turned inside out, 
cleaned, plastered, painted, and varnished. Air-shafts 
were widened and whitened. Taking his cue from the 
tragedy that occurred in regard to the fire-escape, he had 
tall iron posts put, at intervals, round the roofs of his 
houses, and a stout wire netting stretched securely on 
them ; and above all this an adjustable awning. The place 
was furnished with plenty of comfortable seats and strong 
hammocks, thus affording a breathing place for his ten- 
ants and making a safe and desirable play-ground for the 
children. Then remembering what he had seen and heard 
at Goluckie, in regard to cleanliness, he engaged an in- 
spector to see that the homes were kept clean. He took 
special pains to select proper janitors, a part of whose 
imperative duties, were to see that the fire-escapes were' 
kept unemcumbered and ready to be used at all times. 

He took care that his tenants did not suffer during this 
process of renovation. He determined upon one thing: 
to rent only to those that would permit an inspection of 
their private apartments at least once a week. He was 
determined to abolish filth and uncleanliness in his own 
houses. 

In addition to improving his houses in the tenement 
district, he had given a contract for two or three blocks of 
tenement houses to be built on Fordham Heights, where 
he happened to have quite a number of acres of land. 
These were to be on a new and improved plan. The 
houses were not to exceed three stories in height. They 


430 Mary Starkweather. 

were to be built around a large square with a garden in 
the center. There were to be local reading-rooms and 
other comforts for the tenants. The street cars were ac- 
cessible, and already he had begun to make an elfort to 
procure reduced rates on them. In fact, so far, Dick 
was really making an honest effort and showing that he 
was not quite soulless. 

The White Pigeon was an up-to-date steel steam yacht, 
a veritable floating palace with every luxury that could be 
conceived. There were suites of rooms elaborately fur- 
nished, the whole magnificently appointed and illuminated 
with electricity. 

Little by little, events occurred, during the summer, that 
served to stimulate and awaken and were to effectually 
change the whole course of the lives of these three men. 

During the early part of the season, Dick had invited 
Mr. Willette, one of the greatest actors of the day, to 
spend a week on the White Pigeon. 

Mr. Willette, besides being a finished artist, was a 
brilliant thinker and writer. 

After dinner, on the first day of his arrival on board, 
they were lounging on deck, smoking. At first, the con- 
versation was fragmentary and jocose, Mr. Willette hav- 
ing in store some capital new jokes, which he told in his 
own inimitable manner. One of them referred to the 
atheism of Voltaire and Tom Paine, and was rather of a 
take-off on them. After a hearty laugh, Mr. Willette 
said : 

''After, all, we owe much to these doughty foes of fa- 
naticism who have brought about this rational state of en- 
lightened Christianity. Many of these shackle-breakers 
sowed in tears, and we are now reaping in joy, with grati- 
tude and thanksgiving. 

"Just see what our modern Goliath, Colonel Eversoll, 


On Board the “White Pigeon. 


431 


has done. He is a man of great merit and rare ability. 
He is fearless. He has riddled superstitions and shams 
that lurk in the churches and hide behind what is known 
as Christianity.’^ 

“Ah! So you are one of his admirers?” asked Dick. 

“Yes, indeed. He loves the stage and the stage loves 
him. He is a friend of the actor. I think it would be 
safe to say that without an exception, the actors almost 
adore him. It is one of his pet sayings that the stage 
makes man immortal; that through the medium of the 
actor, the dead are brought to life, and again are made 
to play their part in life’s drama. But, by the way, do 
you know where Colonel Eversoll is? I have neither seen 
him nor heard of him for some time.” 

Then Donald related to him all about the colonel’s 
illness and cure. Instead of laughing at it, as they had 
expected, Mr. Willette seemed intensely interested and 
began to ask many questions. 

“Then you don’t think it charlatanism?” asked Dick. 

“Most certainly not. I think it a God’s fact. It is 
truly wonderful I Yet no one can fail to note the rapidly 
growing tolerance toward this new philosophy. Healing 
without drugs is becoming very common.” 

“Then you do not believe in doctors of medicine?” asked 
Bennie. 

“Yes, I do if they are rational. There is, no doubt, 
truth in both systems of healing. It is the cranks in 
either system to whom I object. We have divine authority 
for curing without drugs. Eeligion has been healed of 
such festering sores as Dante’s Tnferno’ and Milton’s 
Taradise Lost,’ by the laying on of the hands of ration- 
alism and plain, practical sense, which has materialized 
a healthier state of both body and mind. Nearly all 
physical conditions are due to the state of mind. Ask 


432 Mary Starkweather. 

any physician and he will tell you he cannot cure mind 
diseased/ ” 

^^Do you believe in Christianity?” asked Dick. 

‘^Since the sulphurous hells have gone up in smoke, I 
certainly do. All that is most refined in our art and elo- 
quence; all that is most cheering and elevating in our 
literature; all that is most lasting, practical and comfort- 
ing in our philosophy; and all that is most praiseworthy 
in society, we owe to Christianity. Then why should I 
not believe in it?” 

‘^You think, then, there has been a radical change re- 
ligiously?” asked Dick. 

‘^There has been a marvelous change. There used to be 
two extremes — either the religious fanatic or the person 
who jested and turned everything sacred into a witty hon 
mot. Now, we have a religion based on common sense 
and scientific facts. And in this light the people that 
once joked have become serious thinkers and students. 
There has been a long and bitter warfare between ex- 
tremists.” 

^^But don’t you think they have rather overdone it?” 
asked Bennie. 

^^By no means. It has resulted in an intellectual equilib- 
rium and in a toleration never known before since the 
world began. The gems have been separated from the 
dross. People that once would not listen to religion, be- 
lieving it to be fanaticism, have now learned to recognize 
in it a new and great value through the light of rational- 
ism.” 

Dick mentally recalled the afternoon at Willowby Rest 
and the discussion there. 

^^Well, we must all admit,” said he thoughtfully, as he 
knocked the ashes from his cigar, ^That this century tran- 
scends all others for scientific discoveries; and it may be 


433 


On Board the “White Pigeon.” 

that its closing will usher in a great change religiously. 
In fact, even those that have given but little thought to 
the subject, must know from history alone, the great dif- 
ference between this and the past century in both religion 
and science.'’^ 

“My dear boy, we have still greater discoveries than 
science had heretofore given us, or the evolution of re- 
ligion from darkness to light, to close this century with. 
Science gave us steam, electricity, the X-ray, and all the 
wonderful astronomical and microscopical discoveries. 
And it would seem in the light of the past, that nothing 
could transcend these. And yet they, one and all, pale 
into insignificance when we compare them with the true 
science of all sciences, the power and science of the mind 
of man with its psychological infiuences, that until re- 
cently have been but vaguely known or understood. 

“I admit there is still much crudeness and misconcep- 
tion; but notwithstanding the absurdity of many of the 
principles advanced, the great fundamental truths have 
been discovered and are gradually forcing their way to 
the surface, and will eventually dominate us and our sur- 
roundings. The old Puritanic cry of ^Children of the 
devil,’ ^Witchcraft!’ and later, the cry of Charlatanism I’ 
by the churches and the doctors went far toward retard- 
ing the advancement of the mind. It almost obscured 
reason ; but with modern science and enlightenment, 
emancipation has come, and man now heeds not the old 
cry.” 

“There is a lot of the old thought yet in the world,” 
said Donald with much spirit. “I know of a few places 
where I would like to see rationalism dominant. I know 
ministers who still keep the throttle-valve of hell and 
perdition wide open and yawning; and I have seen people 
with susceptible minds, live in tortures on the sulphurous 


434 Mary Starkweather. 

confines of hell. How many people have died seeing the 
blue smoke curling up from the hell to which they ex- 
pected to go ! I can well remember when a hoy, and liv- 
ing in Texas, how I hated the Church and the Bible after 
hearing one of those sin-nailing sermons by Sam Jones or 
by Dixon Williams. These men were regular old Bible- 
thumpers, and used to tell us we must forgive our enemies, 
and in the same breath tell how God damned His enemies. 
After hearing them, we boys used to go out together and 
try to see who could say the worst things. As I look back 
to it, now, it would have disheartened the Christ, Him- 
self, as to the result of His teachings on earth.’’ 

‘H would like to hear one of those sermons,” said Dick. 

“If you don’t want to be disgusted with religion, don’t, 
by the bones of Caesar or Brutus, go to hear one of those 
sermons,” vehemently exclaimed Donald. The very recol- 
lection of them seemed to fill him with resentment. 

“Those pessimistic leaders thought they were, and that 
they are now, the living oracles of God,” said Mr. Willette, 
thoughtfully blowing the cigar-smoke from his lips in 
fantastic rings. “But, those bugbears of heredity. Hell 
and Perdition, are fast passing away, and will soon be 
gone. The ideal brotherhood is coming. I hope to live 
to see the time when ignorance, vice and oppression shall 
be overcome, and when war shall cease. The great divine 
command is to love, and as men gradually find equipoise 
and rest, they will fulfill that command. I never sigh 
for the ^good old days,’ but I pray I may live to see the 
good days that are coming.” 

“Are you not something of an idealist?” asked Dick 
quizzically, as he struck a match and lighted a fresh cigar. 

“Possibly. But was not Christ an idealist ? His ideals 
were for charity, health, happiness and brotherly love. 
These He demonstrated while here. Yet, His ideals are 


On Board the “White Pigeon.” 


435 


only now, after two thousand years, beginning to be ful- 
filled. His ideals either slumbered or were distorted until 
the present time. They are now being properly inter- 
preted and understood for the first time.’^ 

“Much that we see and hear, religiously or scientifically, 
nowadays, seems like a flight of fancy,^^ said Bennie. 

“But it is not,’^ replied Mr. Willette ; “as all must know 
who have kept abreast of the times. Once, the telegraph 
and the telephone transcended all other modes of com- 
munication, and when we chained our ears to them we 
felt we had annihilated time and space. How, the man 
that understands mind force and vibration and its dynamic 
powers, whispers on a sunbeam, or on the passing breezes 
to his friend across the continent. Ho, it is not fancy nor 
speculation; but a well-defined, scientific fact.’^ 

“It is wonderful and almost incomprehensible/^ said 
Bennie. 

“Well, it does not seem much more wonderful than that 
your anatomical eccentricities can be discovered by the 
X-ray,^^ laughed Dick. 

“Ho; nor that a photographic plate can be made so 
sensitive that it can be acted upon by the light of a star 
millions of miles away from the earth,” said Donald. 

“All these are wonderful,” said Mr. Willette, “and yet, 
do you comprehend what it means to be able to weigh and 
measure an impression of the mind, and to so create your 
own atmosphere that you can dominate your surroundings 
in such a way that within them nothing perturbing can 
come? Yet, it is scientifically done, and in the light of 
these established facts, charlatanism and clouds vanish.” 

“I have seen so much of you, how does it happen I never 
have heard you mention these things before?” queried 
Dick. 

“In the first place,” replied Mr. Willette, “I never sup- 


43^ Mary Starkweather. 

posed you were interested in anything of tnis sort; but' 
before we had exchanged a dozen words, to-night, I felt 
the sympathetic vibration of your minds. And so, the 
conversation has drifted on in this channel; although I 
believe, as usual, I have done most of the talking. Strange, 
too,” continued he thoughtfully, ^^that as much as we have 
been together I never felt this impression before. I usu- 
ally do recognize this sympathy in others from the first.” 

There was a pause. The little waves could be heard 
lapping the sides of the vessel. In the dim light lent by 
the colored globes on the electric lights, one would have 
found it difficult to have read the expression on the faces 
of the three as they significantly glanced at one another. 
Presently Dick said: 

have had a good many surprises, lately, and to-night 
has added another. I never should have thought of you 
being so absorbed and enthusiastic in this line.” 

'^My dear sir, you must remember we are actors. We 
have learned to conceal our joys as well as our sorrows. 
We do not wear our beliefs on our sleeves.” 

‘^You say, actors. Are there others that believe as you 
do in your profession?” 

^^My dear boy, the woods are full of ^em,” laughed Wil- 
lette. ^^Hundreds of them ! This power of mind is rapidly 
saturating not only our but other professions too. There 
was a time when my audiences dominated me, and I was 
a victim of their caprice. Now, I dominate my audience. 
Actors, artists, musicians, singers and public speakers are 
fast realizing this great truth and are studying it scientific- 
ally.” 

^^Well,” said Dick, confess we three chaps are a good 
deal interested in this direction. But none of us has given 
it much thought or study. The thing that has started us 
on this trail, has been the cure of Colonel Eversoll.” 


On Board the “White Pigeon.” 437 

And then Dick related all that had occurred at Willow 
Springs, not neglecting a history of little Gertrude and 
her wonderful though childlike power, and wound up his 
2iarrative by saying: 

“Mrs. Thornton claims her authority is wholly taken 
from the Bible. Do you agree with her?” 

Mr. Willette had sat absorbing with great interest all 
Dick had said; and replied: 

“Yes, certainly. I could not believe in Christianity and 
believe otherwise; and I admit that there is no book lik^ 
the Bible in the whole world. It is a book that in this 
new light, is becoming more valued and revered daily.” 

Then he went on to explain to his three listeners many 
fine points in these unexplored paths, with enthusiasm 
and brilliancy. He spoke of the healing and referred them 
to the reports of the Society for Psychical Kesearch where 
there were well attested facts demonstrated from a purely 
scientific standpoint. He explained how Mrs. Thornton, 
thoroughly understanding these great scientific facts, com- 
bined with spiritual truth, together with her own purity, 
mental force and dynamic power, had sent this force out 
to those afflicted and carried health and healing to them. 

“And I can well understand how a little child conceived 
and born in this thought could also have great power and 
be a wonderful aid to her mother in healing.” 

“It is a great problem to tussle with,” said Dick. 

“I cannot comprehend it,” said Bennie, “and yet I want 
to. It seems so vague ; and the more I hear of it the more 
bewildered I become.” 

“Man should never receive his vision second-hand,” re- 
plied Mr. Willette. “It is his unalienable, God-given right 
to think for himself. For this he is given intelligence. 
So, if you are interested in this line of thought, you must 
think and study it out for yourself. On no organization. 


43^ Mary Starkweather. 

nor individual, is the power bestowed collectively, to re- 
ceive and impart knowledge as in the old days. Our minds 
would starve as well as our bodies if we tried to nourish 
them by deputy. Intellectual slavery is a thing of the 
past. We now have intellectual freedom. Study it, my 
boy,” said Mr. Willette, reaching out his hand and pat- 
ting Bennie on the shoulder. will come to you. You 
will soon feel the uncaging of your soul and find it rising 
upon the wings of free and independent thought, where it 
will obtain that happiness and liberty that ^age cannot 
wither nor time decay.’ ” 

There was silence for a moment, and again there came 
to them the subdued rhythm of the sea. Then Donald 
said: 

^^What a power there is in the human voice when under- 
stood as you understand it. I feel as if you had pro- 
nounced a benediction.” 

^Tf I have not I ought,” said Mr. Willette with anima- 
tion, starting up and stretching himself like a leopard. 
^^This is the longest sermon I have preached in some time.” 

^Must as a matter of curiosity, I would like to look into 
this,” said Dick. ‘T propose we adjourn to the cabin 
and liquidate and have some things; and while doing so, 
you can give us a list of books that will throw the best 
light on the subject.” 

They descended to the saloon where the sideboard 
glistened with gold and silver and glass. Liveried servants 
were in attendance; and, soon from the midst of these 
splendid surroundings sounds issued as of small boys prac- 
ticing with pop-guns, accompanied by a peculiar, fizzing 
noise, and the refreshing and musical clinking of ice in 
delicate glasses. All thi^ attested to the fact that there 
was something "extra dry” in the cabin besides the liquids. 

Before twenty-four hours there was a goodly supply of 


On Board the “White Pigeon.” 


439 


books on the new science in the cabin of the White Pigeon, 
and, as the minds of the three were in sympathy and were 
interested in common in the promotion of their new 
scheme, and thinking of it almost constantly, they began 
to notice that although no word would be spoken to indi- 
cate it, yet they would catch one another's thoughts. 
This struck them more forcibly, when, on meeting Edith, 
or Mary, or the general, or Charles, to have that person 
say: 

“To-day, or this morning, or last night, I was thinking 
so and so.” And nearly always they would find, on com- 
paring notes, that it had all the appearance of direct com- 
munication. These were, of course, so far, mainly coin- 
cidences ; and had not reached any scientific or even experi- 
mental stage. But Mr. Willette had made the remark, on 
hearing them dubbed the “Trinity,” that there is a great 
dynamic force in the concentration of three persons; and 
he also said that the three of them on the vessel, which was 
in a great measure cut off from the usual inharmonious 
vibrations and surroundings, ought to be able to create 
an atmosphere that would be a great aid to them. Mr. 
Willette loved this science; and from his suggestions they 
obtained many valuable hints and much information. 
They took up the study because it was something new, and 
as a temporary pastime for the hot weather, but before 
the summer waned they were making an earnest, scientific 
research of psychic phenomena, and became so thoroughly 
interested in it and in the project they were carrying on, 
that they declared they did not know where the summer 
had flown. Heretofore, they always had been obliged to 
search for amusement and contrive how to keep cool. 
They never knew that it had been an unusually hot sum- 
mer. In this they unconsciously and clearly demonstrated 
the vower of the mind. 


440 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

NEWPORT. 

It was a gay, brilliant season at Newport. All the 
nsnal things were done, and some that were unnsnal. 
There were ^‘^vaudevilling,^^ ^^antomobilling,” yachting, 
golfing, strange vagaries, realities and some silent trage- 
dies. There was not a moment for ennui. The Brandts 
led as usual, in the best of taste, and entertained lavishly. 

When the season was well advanced, the morning papers 
contained the following announcement: 

‘^Among the late arrivals, are young Judge Thornton 
and his wife. They will spend the remainder of the sea- 
son with Colonel and Mrs. Brandt at their villa, and on 
board the steam yacht. White Pigeon, as guests of Richard 
Braintree. Mrs. Thornton is the most beautiful and at- 
tractive of the younger matrons of the Tour Hundred.’ ” 

On arriving at Newport, Mary found that her three 
girl-friends had not been idle ; and not only that, but they 
were using a great deal of tact in their proceedings. Very 
adroitly they had sounded many of the girls and younger 
matrons in their set, and had been able to interest a num- 
ber in their philanthropic movement. 

Among this set, the girls had been delighted to find 


Newport. 441 

several who knew something of and were somewhat inter- 
ested in the study of the new philosophy. Therefore, they 
determined to form themselves into a class for the study 
of this science for the coming winter, and to try to per- 
suade Mrs. Thornton to become their teacher. They also 
formed a philanthropic club, which they also hoped to 
place under the direction of Mary. 

When she arrived, she was besought to comply with these 
arrangements, to which she gladly acquiesced. 

Every day, through the summer, Mary had taken Ger- 
trude in her arms and had gone in to her “^^Holy of Holies,” 
and there in the silence, held communion with the invisible 
forces. And concentrating all her dynamic power for 
courage and strength, had sent it forth to those co-workers 
at Newport; and she was overjoyed at these signs of 
activity for practical work, in a direction where it could 
result in so much far-reaching good. 

The rectors of two of the fashionable New York 
churches, one of which the Brandts attended, were so- 
journing at Newport. Edith had had a long talk with 
both of them in regard to the Goluckie community. These 
good men were more than delighted, especially the clergy- 
man to whose flock Edith belonged, to find this fair, beauti- 
ful girl, and her companions, so earnestly interested in 
this philanthropic work. And it was no difficult thing 
for Edith to persuade them to go with her to meet Mary 
and visit Goluckie. They had been favorably impressed, 
and the eventual outcome of this visit had been the deter- 
mination of these two clergymen to make the effort to 
establish a community in connection with their churches. 
That great incentive to this resolve had been given each 
of them by a promise from Edith, will be seen hereafter. 

Charles had suggested that a good way to start another 
community would be to organize a regular stock company 


442 Mary Starkweather. 

and issue the stock at so much a share. In this way, 
people who so desired to aid and who were not able to in- 
vest large sums of money, could buy what stock they could 
afford and thus feel interested and that they were helping 
along in the work. Besides, he argued, if many people 
were interested in these communities, and sending good 
thoughts to them for success, they would surely succeed. 
This plan had struck Dick so favorably that he offered 
to organize a company, get out a charter, and take the 
responsibility of selling the stock the coming winter. 

The two clergymen, after looking carefully into this 
method and concluding it was a good one, decided to adopt 
it, and were now looking about for a suitable location for 
their community. 

So, it can be seen how, though merry and gay, these 
young people were not wholly idle or unmindful of others. 
Their plans were well laid for the coming season, and it 
now remained to be seen whether they would be carried 
into execution. 

Some one has said: ^^There is a tremendous power of 
attraction in aspiration.'’’ This was clearly demonstrated 
during Mary’s and Charles’s stay at Newport, by the 
friends that were interested in the new science and phil- 
anthropic movement. And many were the days and even- 
ings that were spent on board the White Pigeon, as she 
rocked idly, or danced gaily over the waves. Sometimes 
the party of eight would remain for two or three days on 
board, excluded from the rush and crush of society. This 
was especially enjoyed by Charles, who had worked unusu- 
ally hard all summer; and these were the only breathing 
spells he had allowed himself. Thus, he had slipped the 
leash of care and had abandoned himself to enjoyment. 

Mary and Charles were so happy. Their honeymoon 
had glided into seemingly endless moons. Being so con- 


Newport. 443 

genial to each other, and to these dear young souls that 
were with them, they passed many golden hours inhaling 
the restful, life-giving gifts of fragrance from the sea. 

Since the day spent on Bennie^s land, Donald, Dick 
and Bennie had been dubbed the “Trinity” among them- 
selves, Annie declaring they were a “Job lot,” and so long 
as they had to be taken, it would simplify matters if taken 
in a lump. 

Charles had declared it was the first time he had been 
able to freely say that he indorsed and fully believed in 
the “Trinity.” 

A close observer could see that there was a gradual 
change coming over some of the members of this party, 
aside from any we have yet mentioned. Mary’s quick 
eye and ear caught this and wondered where it would lead. 

Annie and Pansy were not soft, purring, kittenish girls. 
On the contrary, they romped about on deck, playing the 
maddest pranks on the others and affording a perpetual 
fund of amusement. 

Every day Pansy grew more beautiful and witching. 
Her large, child-eyes, her perfect face and pliant form, 
her pretty frocks so fiuffy, her hair and ribbons so riotous, 
it was no wonder that poor Donald was becoming be- 
wildered. He looked at her sometimes as if he thought 
she did not belong to the earth, and as if he feared she 
might vanish from his sight forever. 

One night. Pansy had a headache and remained in her 
room. Donald had gone to his room to write letters. 
Mary and Charles were looking over the daily papers in 
the saloon. Dick was half reclining on a deck-divan, 
lazily smoking. Bennie and Edith and Annie were walk- 
ing up and down the deck. Annie and Bennie were talk- 
ing. Edith had noticed Dick’s listless attitude, and she 
immediately became alarmed for fear he was slipping back 


444 Mary Starkweather. 

into his old self. Since Mary had spoken of Emerson^s 
conception of man, Edith had been trying to analyze Dick. 
Mary had declared to her that after returning from the 
hospital, where she had talked with the sick woman, that 
she believed they would eventually find rich color where 
Dick’s heart throbbed. And now, as he lay there, he was 
the picture of lassitude and inactivity. 

^^No,” she thought, can’t let him slip back. He is 
too useful. We need him too much.” And disengaging 
her hand from Bennie’s arm, she went over to Dick, and 
as she took a seat near him she said, with a touch of the old 
scorn in her voice : 

^^Back in the old slough?” 

Dick lazily looked at her. ^^Why do you ask?” 

^^Because, at this moment, you look like an incurable 
victim of the giant. Ennui/* 

^^Is that the only way you arrived at the profound con- 
clusion ?” 

^ATes, and by the smoke that so gracefully and lazily 
curled from your cigar.” 

Dick now sat up straight from his lounging position, 
where he had been gazing at the fantastic shapes of the 
smoke as it circled in the air, and said: 

"I have been in a delicious languor. I have been review- 
ing the comedies and tragedies of my life. You wake 
me up to remember, as Carlyle says : ^This world is not a 
puppet-play, but a terrible God’s fact.’ The old fellow 
was right. It’s true in more ways than one.” 

^Tt’s your turn, now, to tell me how you arrived at this 
conclusion,” said Edith, delighted at Dick’s evident ani- 
mation. 

^^By a very simple method I can assure you. Yester- 
day, Donald, little Bennie, and I 

Bennie and Annie were passing at this moment and 


Newport. 445 

heard what Dick was saying. A frown gathered on Ben- 
nie’s face as they passed on, and as Edith has succeeded in 
rousing Dick from his lethargy, it may be interesting to 
the reader to follow Annie and Bennie as they walked aft 
and sat down on a divan, and listen to what Bennie is 
saying : 

^^How I hate that expression — ^little Bennie Gordon.’” 

^'That’s funny. Why, I’ve heard you call yourself 
dittle Bennie Gordon’ a dozen times, and besides, you 
must remember you’re not a giant,” said Annie, jokingly. 

^That’s the worst of it, the terrible truth of it,” replied 
Bennie, disconsolately. 

^^Well, what does it matter? It isn’t the biggest people 
that are the best or bravest,” said Annie. 

^Gt matters a good deal. What woman would want to 
marry a man to whom everybody tacked on the word, 
little, as a title of distinction?” 

Annie almost gasped at the sudden question; but think- 
ing that Bennie spoke in general, and of no one in par- 
ticular, she laughed softly and asked ; 

“Oh, it’s that, is it ? Poor little Bennie, I am so sorry !” 
said she soothingly. “Who is the fair creature ?” 

“Oh, I don’t wonder that you are inclined to joke about 
it,” said Bennie, desperately; “but I assure you it began 
to be a serious thing to me since I have learned to care for 
a woman I feel sure could never love me, on account of 
my size if for no other reason. It’s no laughing matter, 
believe me.” 

Had it been light, he would have seen how the drooping 
lids quivered upon the now red, now pallid, cheeks of 
Annie. To her, while he was speaking, those moments 
seemed protracted to an age. She knew this was a morbid 
fancy of Bennie’s and that he was considered a most 
eligible young man and much sought after. She won- 


446 


Mary Starkweather. 

dered who could be trifling with Bennie. She felt for a 
moment as if she would suffocate ; then she gained control 
of her voice and asked: 

^^How do you know she obiects to your size? Have you 
asked her?’’ 

^^Ho, I have not. And I feel it would be of no use. I 
could not bear a refusal.” 

‘^^It seems to me that is cowardly. And that is the last 
thing I would ever accuse you of,” said Annie, rising and 
feeling as if she would die if she prolonged the interview. 
She was as pale as a ghost. ^^Take my advice and ask 
her.” 

Bennie seemed stung at the word cowardly; and started 
up as she rose and said excitedly : 

H will take your advice, Annie, I will. Take it to 
yourself. If you knew that I loved you — Gloved you to 
adoration — would you — do you — that is, could you ever 
learn to love me?” 

Annie dropped into the seat from which she had risen. 
She paused before replying. The hot blood had rushed 
to her face. 

^^Ho. I could never learn to love you, Bennie.” 

'^There ! I knew it,” cried Bennie in a choking voice. 
"I don’t blame you ; but it’s cruelly hard to bear. I would 
lay down my life for you, Annie.” 

Annie had recovered herself completely. She looked up 
at Bennie, who was standing before her. 

'^Shall I tell you why I could not learn to love you?” 

^‘^N’o, Annie, you need not tell me nor make any ex- 
cuses. I know it is because you couldn’t learn to love a 
dwarf like me. You want a great big fellow that looks 
like somebody. And I don’t blame you because you can- 
not learn to love me.” 

^‘But you must hear my reason for not being able to 


Newport. 447 

do so/’ insisted Annie. is because, when I found out 
the kind of man you were, I found it out suddenly. It 
was a revelation. I found you were so good, so true, so 
noble, so strong — so everything that a grand man should 
be, that you seemed a very tower of strength to me. And 
before I could learn to love you, I was engulfed in love, 
overwhelmed by it, and my only fear has been that you 
never could learn to love mef* 

^^Annie ! Annie !” gasped Bennie ; ‘^is it true ?” 

‘^It is true, Bennie, I love you dearly, devotedly.” 

^^And Donald and your mother, what will they ” 

^^There is no man on earth they will so gladly give me 
to as you.” 

Instead of catching Annie in his arms and going mad 
with joy as the conventional lovers do, Bennie tottered 
forward like a drunken man, and dropped at her feet, 
burying his head in her lap, and sobbed like a child. 
Annie only loved him the more for this exhibition of the 
depth of his feeling; and her warm, white womanly hands 
with their dainty fingers, caressed his soft golden hair, 
and pressed themselves tenderly against his burning cheeks, 
and waited for him to master his feelings. She knew 
there was nothing groveling or cowardly about Bennie, that 
he had the soul of a giant, and that only joy could make 
him shed tears. She realized her love had come so sud- 
denly upon him. 

Bennie caught her hands in his and showered them with 
both kisses and tears. He staggered to his feet, and just 
as he caught her in his arms and kissed her. Pansy’s voice 
came fioating to them in the stillness, as she called: 

‘^Annie, Annie, come here quick !” 

Annie, quickly disengaging herself, fied in the direction 
of the voice. 

Bennie at once sought Donald and startled him with 


448 Mary Starkweather. 

the sight of his agitation and tear-stained face, as he 
tumbled into a chair, gasping incoherently Annie’s name. 
Donald sprang to his feet and started to the door, think- 
ing Annie must be overboard. Bennie caught hold of him 
to stop him. 

‘^Let me go, man, let me go !” exclaimed Donald. ^"^What 
is the matter with you?” pushing Bennie off. 

^^Don’t, for heaven’s sake, Donald, don’t go,” incoher- 
ently exclaimed Bennie. ^^That is — ^you see — Annie loves 
me.” 

Donald looked at him for an instant ; then, as the truth 
dawned upon him he collapsed into a chair and positively 
roared. No other word can express it. It was not a 
genteel ha, ha, ha! but a regular haw, haw, haw! he, he 
he! hi, hi, hi! haw, haw, haw ! — Just such a laugh as 
used to break forth from his lips when he was racing over 
the broad Texas prairies with the wind tossing his tawny 
hair. 

Bennie always declared, afterward, that Donald laughed 
in eleven different keys in a minute. 

Dick heard the commotion, and rushing down, put his 
head inside the door and found Donald with his arms 
around Bennie, waltzing him ecstatically about the room. 

Among the many incidents of importance that occurred 
at Newport, in connection with these young people, there 
was one that as it seemed to make an indelible impression 
on Dick and Bennie, and caused them to become more 
resolute than ever, in pursuit of the work they had under- 
taken, and to make them more thoughtful of all the bless- 
ings that daily surrounded them, our readers may be in- 
terested in it. 

As Carl still remained at Bethesda, Mary had brought 
him to Newport with her. One evening, during the prog- 
ress of a dinner-dance at the Brandt villa, Dick and Bennie 


Newport. 449 

had wandered into the conservatory, Dick sat down near 
the fountain under a great, spreading palm. 

Carl and Gertrude were standing near a large, rustic 
table, on which were piled shells and various curios, in 
the center of which was a large vase filled with grasses, 
wheat-heads and fiowers. 

Gertrude’s chatter was always interesting, and, at this 
moment she was holding a beautiful orchid in her hand and 
admiring it, as she said to Carl: 

“How the Maker of flowers must have loved beautiful 
things. See the dress of this beautiful orchid. See the 
ruffles and scallops and fringes.” 

Carl had just cracked an English walnut, and he gave 
her half of the kernel. Part of the hull was sticking to 
it, and as she separated it she said: 

“See that kernel. Isn’t it a pretty shape, and the hull 
— how beautifully it is carved on the outside.” 

Carl examined it, then tossed it away. He took up a 
shell and commenced dipping it in the water. Gertrude 
pulled a stalk of wheat and began tickling him with it. 
He caught it and broke ofi the head. 

“There!” she exclaimed; “you have destroyed a whole 
village.” 

“How?” asked Carl. 

“Why, don’t you see? Each grain has a little home by 
itself, and they all grow together in a little community, 
like Goluckie ; and these long beards are soldiers that stand 
at the door and guard the little wheat-grain people,” 
laughed Gertrude, as she mischievously flung the head of 
wheat in Carl’s face, and turning to run away, she flew 
straight into the arms of Dick. 

“Oh, Mr. Braintree !” laughed Gertrude, clinging to him. 
“Don’t let him throw the water on me;” for Carl had 


450 


Mary Starkweather. 


filled a shell with water, and started in pursuit of his 
assailant. He now stood, holding the shell, irresolute. 

won^t do it again, I won^t do it again !” protested 
Gertrude, laughing and trying to shelter herself in Dick’s 
arms. 

‘^Cross your heart?” said Carl. 

^‘Yes, I cross my heart,” said Gertrude, trying to look 
serious as she made a cross on her tiny breast. 

She was all in white chiffon, like a bit of sea-foam ; her 
snowy neck and arms were bare, and on her left shoulder 
was a knot of ribbon in which was tied a great cluster of 
forget-me-nots. Half reluctantly, Carl returned the 
water to the fountain, and then Gertrude called to him, 
saying: 

^^Oh, Carl, bring that shell here and show it to Mr. 
Braintree.” 

It was an unusually brilliantly colored shell. 

^^There!” said Gertrude, holding it up to the light, 
“isn’t it lovely ? I think it must have been a little Prince 
Abalone that lived in that shell. Don’t you think so, 
Mr. Braintree?” 

Dick took the shell and after admiring it and declaring 
it beautiful, he said as he toyed with her golden hair: 

“I heard you telling pretty little stories about the flow- 
ers. Can’t you tell me a story?” 

Gertrude at once became very thoughtful and serious, 
as she said: 

“Mamma told me some little stories about the flowers. 
I think she said she read them in a book. She said they 
were not sure enough for true stories; but she said they 
were comfortable to think about.” 

“What were they? Can you tell us?” said Dick. 

“Oh ! Of course I can ; but you must remember they’re 
not for true/* said Gertrude, impressively. 


Newport. 451 

^^111 remember/’ said Dick. 

‘^Do you know why the roses are scarlet, and why the lily 
is the dearest of all the flowers, and — and not always, but 
nearly always, has a drop of dew on her heart, and — and 
has the sweetest perfume?” 

^^No. Can you tell me?” 

^^Of course I can, if you’re very good,” laughed Gertrude, 
drawing an imaginary line down Dick’s nose with her 
dainty forefinger. ‘^‘^Kow, at first, the lily was not so 
white as it is now ; but once the dear Christ, who was with- 
out sin, was talking with the people. There were tears 
in His eyes, because He loved His people so; and wanted 
them to be very good. He stooped and plucked a lily; 
and first He pressed it against His cheek, and one of His 
tears fell in its cup. And the perfume from His sin- 
less fingers went into the lily. Then, the dear Lord 
held the lily against His breast, while He talked to His 
people. And the lily was so glad that she grew whiter 
and whiter, and trembled for joy ; and she hugged the tear- 
drop close to her heart. And Mamma said that it is a 
nice, little thing to think about. And perhaps that is 
why we think the lily the purest flower.” 

‘^But you didn’t tell why the rose was red,” said Carl. 

^‘^Oh! I most forgot that. Mamma says that when the 
dear Lord plucked the lily, there was a rose near it and it 
grew very pale, longing to be noticed by Him. And by 
and by the dear Lord looked down, and saw the rose and 
read her thoughts; and he stooped and plucked her, and 
she blushed a rosy red ; and her perfume grew very sweet. 
Oh! I think it’s a beautiful little story even if it isn’t a 
real-for-true one,” said Gertrude, as she nestled her golden 
head up against Dick’s breast. 

There was a moment’s silence. Carl and Bennie seemed 
to be thinking. Dick was trying to swallow an awfully 


452 Mary Starkweather. 

troublesome lump tnai had risen in his troat. He had 
his arm around Gertrude, holding her close. As no one 
said anything, Gertrude turned her face upward, and 
looking at Dick with her beautiful blue eyes, as she put 
up her hand and stroked his cheek, asked: 

"Don^t you think it’s a beautiful story, Mr. Braintree 

^Gt’s the most beautiful story I ever heard,” said Dick. 
‘^1 am always going to remember it.” There was a de- 
cided huskiness in his voice. 

‘Tm so glad you like it,” said Gertrude with a little 
satisfied sigh as she complacently cuddled her head once 
more on the ocean of shirt-front. 

In all the long years afterward of Dick’s life, he never 
forgot the silence which followed Gertrude’s chatter about 
the flowers. It made an indelibale impression upon him. 
He remembered the tune the orchestra was playing, and 
the hum of the voices in the distance. He remembered 
the peculiar stillness in the conservatory and the odor of 
the plants and the musical plashing of the water in the 
fountain. And, above all, he remembered the soft, warm 
touch, the feeling of this beautiful, rosy, dimpled child 
that he held whose very body seemed to exhale a perfume 
sweeter than any flower that ever bloomed. She now lay 
in his arms motionless. Her eyes were half veiled by their 
long dark lashes, her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly 
apart, disclosing the tips of her tiny teeth, like a half open 
rose-bud giving one a glimpse of its heart. It seemed to 
him she was hardly mortal, and he unconsciously felt his 
arms tightening about her as if in fear that she might 
dissolve from his view. His eyes wandered to Bennie, who 
seemed thoughtfully studying the mosaics in the marble 
floor under his feet. Carl was standing by the fountain 
dipping his fingers in the water. 

Dick glanced down again at the child in his arms with 


Newport. 453 

the bunch of for-get-me-nots tied on her shoulder, and 
said, as he touched them with his fingers: 

^^And these pretty little flowers, have you no story about 
them ?” 

yes exclaimed Gertrude, starting up, all alive in 
a minute. ''But it's a funny story." 

"All right," said Dick. "Tell us the funny story. I 
should like to hear it." 

"Well, you must remember it isn't true; it's just a little 
comfortable story like the other one." 

"All right. Go on. We will remember," laughed Dick. 

"Well, when the dear Lord made all the flowers, he 
named them and told them they must remember their 
names and grow and be very beautiful and sweet and good. 
Well, they all did just as the dear Lord said, except one 
little blue flower, like these; and she was good and grew 
beautiful, but forgot her name. So, she came and said: 

" 'Dear Lord, what did you say my name was ?' 

"And the dear Lord said, sweetly, 'For-get-me-not ; for- 
get-me-not !' Wasn't she funny to forget her name?" said 
Gertrude slipping from Dick's lap to the floor. 

He put out his hand to detain her, but, eluding his 
grasp and laughing, she flew down the long avenue of 
plants, looking back over her shoulder, and calling: 

"For-get-me-not ! For-get-me-not !" 

They watched Gertrude for a moment. Then, Carl 
started in pursuit of her. Dick rose and putting forth 
his hand, took Bennie's hand in his, and said: 

"Bennie, old boy, I feel like a man that had lived in 
Paradise all his life ; but had been born blind, and suddenly 
received his sight." 

"I'm sure I don't know what it is about that child, but 
I am never where she is ten minutes that I haven't some- 
thing new to think about," said Bennie, "and I declare, 


454 


Mary Starkweather. 

that little story quite upset me, don’t you know? It’s 
awfully soft and silly, I know, but I cawn’t help it — ^by 
Jove r 

^^You don’t want to help it, Bennie. I felt just the same 
way myself. And I haven’t any apology to make for it. 
I only want to apologize for my past miserable useless life ; 
and if God spares me I shall try to be a different man in 
the future.” 

^^By Jove ! I’m with you,” said Bennie joyfully, ^^and 
I’m deuced glad you don’t think me a ^muff.’ Of course, 
at first I thought it a great lark to help Miss Edith and 
Mrs. Thornton. But, by J ove ! you know I don’t mind 
telling you that I’ve become awfully interested, and feel 
now as if I couldn’t give up our new pursuits on my own 
account.” 

^^We will not give up the work, Bennie. We will con- 
secrate ourselves anew to it from to-night,” said Dick 
with much feeling and another reassuring pressure of the 
hand as they went forward to meet some acquaintances 
who were looking for them. 

Afterward, when they were back in town, Bennie told 
Edith about the conversation with the children and about 
Gertrude’s stories, and in a great burst of confidence, he 
exclaimed : 

^^And by Jove! Miss Edith, there is something funny 
about it. You know, those words, ^A little seed by the 
wayside,’ ^Thoughts are things,’ are continually coming 
to me. And like a refrain come those words, ^For-get-me- 
not, for-get-me-not.’ It rings in my ears and I positively 
dream about roses, lilies and for-get-me-nots. And now, 

I want to tell you something else. You know, we all go 
to the art galleries. The pictures of the Saviour always 
had a disagreeable effect upon me, and I would hurry past 
them as quickly as possibly, I never gave them a second 


Newport. 455 

thought; and now, I feel quite different. Yesterday, I 
stood for a full half hour looking at Tissoffs picture of 
Christ, and by Jove! I thought it was beautiful; and I 
almost fancied I could see the stainless lily in His hand 
and hear those words, ^For-get-me-not, for-get-me-not.’ 
Now, every time I see any for-get-me-nots in the florist’s 
windows, I go and look at them as if I never saw any 
before. And by Jove ! Dick is just as soft about it as 
I am. I was up in his room, the other day, and near his 
desk on a table were great heaps of red and pink roses. 
And on his desk in the most exquisite alabaster vase, that 
he bought on purpose to hold them, was a huge bunch of 
for-get-me-nots. He thinks them the prettiest flower ; and 
he says that whenever he looks at them he sees the blue 
eyes and golden hair of Gertrude, and feels the soft touch 
of her Angers. He has painted and decorated a white 
enamelled panel, and inserted it in the top of his desk, 
and on it is a motto in German text, inwoven with for-get- 
me-nots. And now, see if you can guess what the motto 
is.” 

Edith, who had been deeply interested, now drew a long 
breath and said: 

""Do you expect me to keep up with Dick’s mental gym- 
nastics? I haven’t the slightest idea. I could never 
guess ; but I’ll confess to you, in confidence, I am curious 
to know his latest eccentricity.” 

""Well, it was this: "A little child shall lead them.’ 
Who would ever think that of Dick?” 

""Who indeed!” echoed Edith with a note of surprise 
in her voice. 

""When he saw that I noticed the flowers, he took me by 
the arm and led me up to them and said : 

"" "You see those flowers, Bennie ? I have ordered this 
sort of flower to be placed here every day, and I have 


456 Mary Starkweather. 

painted this panel myself; and I am going to keep them 
here for the present. I find them comfortable things to 
think about/ said he, quoting Gertrude. ^When you fail 
to see them you will know I have been guilty of some act 
unworthy of a gentleman. They have been placed here 
with many mental resolutions. When they are removed, 
you will know those resolutions have been broken. Be- 
lieve it or not ; but these simple fiowers/ said he, touching 
the for-get-me-nots with his fingers, ^have already been 
to me gentle monitors for good. If I spend a day here in 
my room, I become so attached to them that it almost 
gives me pain to feel that they must go and be replaced by 
fresh ones. Flowers, heretofore, have always been very 
beautiful to me, but a passing whim. I admired and 
thought I loved them. But through that child, they now 
live and breathe and speak to me, and it is with pain that 
I see them die.^ 

"So you see. Miss Edith, I^m not the only muff,” laughed 
Bennie. 

"You and Dick are growing sentimental,” replied Edith. 
But if she had spoken all that was in her heart, she could 
have told quite as remarkable an experience. Ever since 
the day little Gertrude gave her explanation of people’s 
thought and God’s thought, Edith was mentally continu- 
ally separating the two: "This is God’s thought; this 
is people’s thought,” was constantly in her mind. She, 
and also Pansy, had heard many other wonderful things 
from Gertrude’s lips, which had set them both thinking. 
And the two sisters had been drawn into closer communion 
through it; and she said to Pansy that night: 

"There is a volume of meditation and instruction in the 
things that child drops. They seem to go further and 
make more impression than elaborate arguments.” 


Thoughtless Chatter. 


457 


CHAPTEE XXXIII. 

THOUGHTLESS CHATTER OF SOCIETY WOMEN. 

One afternoon, about ten or fifteen ladies were gath- 
ered in the library of the Brandt cottage^ sipping tea 
and chatting. It was an informal, accidental gathering, 
and, as it was a rainy day they lingered and gossiped about 
the latest society happening, which chanced to be the re- 
cent elopement of a society woman with a man who was 
much beneath her socially. Society was shocked as much 
as Society was capable of being shocked. This lady 
had left her husband and two little daughters. It seemed 
that she had discovered, from a package of letters and a 
photograph, found among her husband^s belongings, that 
he was untrue to her. And in order to spite him and to 
be revenged, she had made a bad matter worse by aban- 
doning her home and children. So, the ladies babbled 
and gave free license to their speech and expressed all 
kind of opinions. 

“Oh, welV’ said one, “marriage is a lottery — few prizes 
and many blanks. Men will have their fling, married or 
single.'’^ 

“It’s a woman’s curiosity that breaks up many a happy 
home,” said another. “The best way to get along with 
one’s husband, is never to ask any questions. It’s too 
risky.” 


458 Mary Starkweather. 

; it’s a bad plan to investigate/’ replied a little lady 
as she complacently sipped her tea. 

course it is/’ said another, with a toss of her head. 
^‘What did she want to go poking after his letters for? I 
wouldn’t open a letter addressed to my husband for any- 
thing. I go on the principle that ^What the eye does not 
see the heart does not grieve for.’ ” 

^‘Yes, indeed. I learned long ago never to ask my hus- 
band a question when he comes in late,” said a young mar- 
ried woman. just shut my teeth and say to myself, 
^He has been to his club.’ ” 

^^ell, perhaps he has,” said Pansy. 

This brought a shout of laughter at Pansy’s simplicity. 

^^Well,” continued another bright up-to-date sparkling 
young married woman, “I never go to my husband’s office 
without ’phoning him that I am coming, so he can be 
prepared.” 

‘^Why do you do that?” asked Annie Barry in surprise. 

This brought another laugh, as the lady replied, with 
a significant lifting of her eyebrows and a shrug of her 
aristocratic shoulders : 

‘^He has a very handsome stenographer in his office, 
my dear.” 

^^Well,” said another little woman, with a sigh and in 
a tone as of one that had had experience, ^^matrimonial 
discord is worse than the fires of the infernal regions. 
The hymeneal altar is an altar of sacrifice. How many 
true, good, innocent hearts are being offered upon its 
strange fires, and they only know when it is too late.” 

"Most girls dream and think of marriage as a sort of 
blissful Nirvina,” said a tall, stately blond with an hour- 
glass figure, as she languidly fanned herself with a long 
feather fan. 

"And when they find it is not, they wonder what in 


Thoughtless Chatter. 459 

Devachan they were dreaming about/’ laughed a sprightly 
young matron as she jauntily adjusted her hat, before the 
mirror, preparatory to taking her departure. 

^‘After all, marriage is a huge joke,” said a lady old 
enough to express better sentiments. “"It is sunshine and 
storm, gray peaks and winter snows. If you can live 
through the tumult of it all and get into that condition 
where you can look back and analyze it, perhaps you can 
make yourself believe it’s better to have faced the storm 
than to have died an old maid. However, the old maid 
has the best of it, after all. She escapes the cares and 
worries of maternity.” 

‘^That’s the worst of married life,” said a pretty little 
woman who cuddled and petted a tiny dog in her arms. 
^^Men have such world-before-the-flood ideas. My husband 
is a regular crank on the subject. He actually threatened 
to kill Tottie, he was so jealous of the dear little beast,” 
said she, fondly stroking and caressing the dog. “My 
children are absolutely unmanageable. I can’t do any- 
thing with them. I don’t know how. He actually thinks 
I ought to look after them myself. He is so stupid, he 
goes up to the nursery, and sits there sometimes an hour 
at a time, and says it’s interesting. I want something 
better to do than looking after a lot of unruly children,” 
concluded she as she kissed and cuddled her dog. 

“I, too,” said another pretty little woman. “I have no 
children and hope I never may have. I would strangle 
them if I did,” laughed she thoughtlessly. 

“I am glad my girls are boys,” said another sprightly 
lady. “Boys, you know, can bring up themselves. Girls 
are an awful care. You have to be so particular about 
them.” 

The sun now coming out, the ladies, one by one, began 
to take their leave until there were only a few girls, and 


460 Mary Starkweather. 

two or three married women, besides Mary, left in the 
room. Most of the time Mary had been conversing with 
a lady whom she had not seen for a long time ; but she 
had her ears open, and had heard nearly all the conversa- 
tion going on around her. 

Mrs. Brandt had excused herself and had gone to attend 
some society meeting; so Edith, with the assistance of 
Annie Barry and Pansy, was hostess. 

One of the girls, standing at the window watching the 
carriages as they rolled away, exclaimed sneeringly: 

‘^Love, love! Give up all for love? Well, hardly. 
Love is all right in a play or a novel. Love, home-life, 
children; iPs all sentiment. I wouldn’t want it. I have 
too many married friends. Fetters, pale cheeks, sighs, 
excuse me. I’ll none of it.” 

“After marriage whither flittest thou, 0 Love !” laughed 
another young lady. 

“Do you really suppose all the things they said and in- 
sinuated are true?” asked Annie. 

“They spoke as if they had personal knowledge,” said 
Edith. “Mrs. Wharton, just now, as she was leaving, 
said something about us in good society. Good society! 
I never realized before what a misnomer the word was. 
Carlyle once said that England was composed of thirty 
million people — ^mostly fools. Now, I think the same 
might be said of society, with a slight change — mostly 
wicked.'*^ 

“Mostly thoughtless,” said Mary. 

“Well,” said Annie earnestly, as a warm flush came into 
her face, “such talk is a disgrace to civilization. It seems 
to me that if I did marry and found I’d made a mistake, 
I would have the good taste to keep it to myself ; at least 
while I bore my husband’s name. Those women all spoke 
as if from actual experience.” 


Thoughtless Chatter. 461 

"Men seem to have no conscience,” said Edith. "Mar- 
ried or single it doesn’t seem to matter to them. They 
think it’s all right, whatever they do.” 

"Girls should make up their minds not to marry such 
men,” said Pansy. "I know all men are not alike. I 
know there are honest, true men. And that is the kind of 
a man I’m going to marry.” 

This brought a laugh from all, for Pansy spoke with 
much spirit. 

To this, Edith replied, with an air of great experience 
and wisdom: 

"You are a baby optimist. You don’t know anything 
about it. Wait until you’ve had a little experience and 
have seen a little of the world. It’s an old saw, but a 
true one, that all that glitters is not gold.” 

"Oh, listen to the oracle !” exclaimed Pansy. "I know 
this : that it is a beautiful old world with lots of good in 
it. When I got well and could go about, I Just wanted to 
kiss everybody I was so happy. And I don’t like people 
that are always going about, talking about sin and vice, 
and doing nothing to make sin and vice less. I positively 
felt ashamed of some of those women, myself. Their 
talk is even had. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Thornton?” 
said she, appealing to Mary. 

"Yes, I do,” said Mary, looking at Pansy with ap- 
proval. "I think it rests largely with women to reform 
vice and folly in society.” 

"What can a woman, or rather a young girl do ?” asked 
Edith. 

"She can dare to be good,” replied Mary; "dare to en- 
courage only the good; dare not to let fashion sanctify 
vice; dare not to dp things because they are customary or 
fashionable. There are fashionable accomplishments that 


462 Mary Starkweather. 

are innocent. There are fashionable requirements, cus- 
toms and privileges that are pernicious.” 

^^But how can a woman reach such vices ?” asked Edith, 
learning to discriminate, and by being wholesomely 
rational. If you would study yourself, you would be sur- 
prised to find out how much latent ability you have. You 
want to cultivate your intuitive faculties and make use 
of them and of all other attributes that you possess. You 
have all been given beauty, mental power, wealth and in- 
fiuence. You must make good use of them. Here or 
somewhere, somehow or some time, you will be called to 
account for them if wasted.” 

‘T’m sure that is true. I feel it,” said Annie Barry. 
^^When we meet a man we usually take him for just what 
he appears to be on the surface ; and if he appears well and 
has plenty of money we ask no more questions. We ought 
to be able to feel in our hearts whether he is all right.” 

^^That’s about it, Annie,” said a little lady who had 
been married about three years. ‘^Then we marry and 
do our thinking afterward. Then children come, bring- 
ing worries and cares. And we don’t know what to do 
with them. Children make the most of the trouble.” 

^‘Can people plant their marriage on gold or position 
and expect lilies to bloom?” asked Mary. 'T think, be- 
fore a girl marries she ought to ask herself a few questions ; 
and if she cannot answer those questions satisfactorily, 
she should not marry.” 

^^What are the principal ones?” asked Edith. 

“These are the ones I consider most important,” replied 
Mary. “Am I willing to become a mother? If a new 
bom babe were intrusted to me, how would I set about the 
task of caring for it ? Would I love it, could I take charge 
of it, and become interested in it? You young ladies 
should remember you are to be the coming mothers, and 


Thoughtless Chatter. 463 

are to be the builders of the human temple. You should 
learn to lay a foundation now, whose rocks rest on eternity, 
and which should be for glory not for shame. Patience, 
thought and a loving spirit are what you need. That 
is all. And if you really desire them, you will not find 
them difficult graces to attain. But they are indispensable 
to wifehood and motherhood.^^ 

^Tut people never think of those serious things. All 
they think of seems to be dress, to run about, and to be 
gay,” said another young lady. ‘They are seldom 
serious.” 

“My dear girls,” warmly exclaimed Mary, “there is a 
difference between a gay, frivolous life, and a gay, thought- 
ful, useful life. It is right to wear beautiful things and 
enjoy them, because they are beautiful; and to live in 
beautiful homes. But we have no right to do it to the 
exclusion or expense or suffering of others. It is not the 
gayety, it is the thoughtlessless and indifference. Little 
matters are not always trifling. Chasing sunbeams might 
be thought trifling by some ; but it is not, if it builds sun- 
shine within your soul, or the souls intrusted to you.” 

“I donT quite understand,” said Annie. 

“The responsibility of the mother does not begin when 
the nurse lays the little one in her arms; but for months 
before,” replied Mary. 

The girls were all listening intently. Annie Barry with 
her pure, thoughtful face, leaned forward and asked 
anxiously : 

“How? I do not understand this, Mrs. Thornton.” 

“Before the child has seen the light of day, when the 
little unborn soul is dwelling near her heart, like a young 
bird in its shell, even then it should awaken love. And 
the mother should begin to mould and develop it ; and from 


464 Mary Starkweather. 

the time it is born, a tiny, helpless thing, it should be her 
constant care.” 

There was a pause. Mary glanced at the faces of those 
around her, smiled and said: 

^^You all look like a lot of interrogation points. Now 
come, let us be rational and sensible, without restraint. 
I am a wife and mother and I speak from experience when 
I say that nothing should be so beautiful to a woman as 
this study of maternity, and her resolve to be, when the 
time comes, a sensible, patient and intelligent mother. 
The development of the mind of a child is wonderful. 
Think of what it means to be an intelligent mother; to 
watch your child from birth to maturity. Every step is 
fraught with accession of knowledge of the wonders of 
the human mind and its capabilities.” 

‘^Yet with all that, I heard a woman say, the other day,” 
said Pansy, ‘That she had spent lots of time reading and 
studying how to treat dogs and keep them healthy. She 
went on to tell exactly what kind of food each kind of 
dog should have, how warm they should be kept, and even 
the temperature of their bath; and what kind of perfume 
certain dogs liked. She must have thought the dog mind 
superior to the human mind.” 

“That is the kind of woman that Donald calls ‘doggoned 
ladies," "" laughed Annie. “We see plenty of that kind of 
woman. But who is the particular woman to whom you 
refer?” 

“It was a woman who was here this afternoon, who ridi- 
culed her husband for taking an interest in his own chil- 
dren, and who said she wanted something better to do than 
caring for them,"" replied Pansy. 

“Something better to do !"" repeated Mary with an echo 
of sadness in her voice. “Ah, God! It is the noblest, 
grandest work, if rightly understood. No learned seers 


Thoughtless Chatter. 465 

have given to the world a grander employment. Think, 
just stop and think what the mind is. Just think of being 
able to form a mind. Did it ever occur to you? Study 
the mind, and apply this knowledge to the infant, as it 
begins its first efforts, and watch the unfolding, the ex- 
panding. See how it comprehends the ideas we attempt 
to communicate, and how our impressions give it a most 
decided bias. This study of the infant must cOme, not 
entirely, but chiefly from the mother. Her mother-in- 
stinct, her natural capacity, comes through her maternity. 
I think the time will come when mothers will so thoroughly 
understand the science of the mind and its power, that 
they will be enabled to make their children just what they 
wish them to be. Napoleon rightly said, Tt is the mother 
that makes the man.^ 

‘‘1 don’t believe I quite understand what you mean. 
How can a woman make her children what she wishes 
them?” asked Edith. 

^Through the power of the mind,” replied Mary. 

‘^My dear Mrs. Thornton, do you believe that possible?” 
exclaimed Edith in astonishment. 

‘T know it to be an incontrovertible fact,” replied Mary. 
'Tt is a perfectly natural philosophy reduced to an exact 
science, sustained by facts and observation. Let me prove 
it to you. The mother, through the power of her mind, 
builds instantly into the body of her unborn child the 
atoms of what is known as a hirth-marlc, that lasts through 
life. We all have a friend, a young man, right here in 
Newport who is the unfortunate victim of this affliction. 
He has a birth-mark on his face. Now, if this can be 
done through the mind, why can it not build enduring 
atoms of truth, love, justice, and mercy, and beauty and 
health? A mind that can be so intense as to bring into 
existence a child marked as this man is — ^what can’t it 


466 Mary Starkweather. 

% 

do? It requires no occult science to believe this. Any 
physician will verify the truth of this statement of the 
power of the mother^s mind. This being so, how im- 
portant, then, is the study of maternity to young girls 
that they may understand what a great responsibility 
rests upon them. 

^‘This is one reason I have such pity for people in the 
slums. I feel sorry for the men, but more sorry for the 
women, who, in addition to their poverty, are compelled 
to give birth to children amid squalor and vice. The 
men are overburdened, it is true ; but when a man is over- 
burdened, his wife is also. A woman should have rest 
and strength in order to become a proper mother. A 
lack of this is fearful on the mother, but much worse on 
the unborn child. 

^^You remember the pretty house that you all spoke of, 
at Goluckie, that we did not visit? That is what we call 
‘The Mother^s Eetreat.’ The grounds are pretty, the 
house bright and cheerful and filled with inexpensive but 
artistic and attractive things. Here, any coming mother 
can go and remain, if she so desires, the entire period 
previous to the birth of her child. We have simple rules 
and regulations governing this home. I cannot now go 
into the particulars of it, but already the demonstrated 
facts for good results have proved the wisdom of the ex- 
periment. The marvelous infiuence on the men and 
families from this one experiment, has been a revelation. 
It has made them think seriously on a subject to which 
they had never before given a thought. I am more proud 
of my efforts in this direction than anything I have ever 
done. You shall all go with me, some day, to visit this 
house. Then I can explain to you more minutely its 
great advantages. 

“Ah,’" sighed Mary, “we hear people talk, and feel a con- 


Thoughtless Chatter. 467 

tempt for their weakness and folly, yet if we conld go back 
to their conception and birth and their childhood environ- 
ment, we conld account for their idiosyncrasies and would 
not wonder that they are so bad; but we would wonder 
that they are as good as they are. Many men fly into an 
awful temper and the first impulse of his heart is to kill 
some one. Now, the probabilities are, if we could trace 
it back, that the mother wanted to kill her unborn babe, 
and so implanted murder in its heart and destined it, be- 
fore birth, to capital punishment. 

stood by the side of a casket where lay a little child 
three years old. The mother stood there with dry^ tearless 
eyes. I placed my hand on her arm and attempted to say 
some word of consolation to her. She looked up into my 
face with a smile and said: 

^You donT understand. I am not grieving. I am 
rejoicing and thanking heaven for taking him away.^ 

said no more ; but I felt that under it was some terri- 
ble grief. It was not heartlessness. Afterward, she told 
me that before the birth of the child she had been com- 
pelled to carry on a system of lying and deceit that was re- 
pugnant to her. And that with the child’s first dawning 
intelligence, he would steal everything he could lay his 
hands on. 

^^One of the most plebeian families we have at Goluckie, 
had a boy who has developed marvelous artistic talent. 
His taste runs entirely to marine painting. It was an 
enigma to me. He was the eldest child. Neither the 
father nor the mother nor the two younger children have 
the slightest talent for anything artistic. I was about to 
give up the matter as an unsolved problem, when the 
mother, speaking one day of Italy, said: 

^When I first came to this country I near died of 
homesickness. I didn’t like New York, and I would go 


468 Mary Starkweather. 

down to the wharf and look out across the water and long 
to go back to my Italy. I would watch every ship and 
wish I could steal on board and go back to my lovely Italy. 
The ships and the water looked far more beautiful to me 
than the land ; for they led to Italy. That was before my 
little Clio was born. After he came, I forgot all about 
it and I^m happy here now.’ 

^^The problem was solved in regard to this child. This 
plebeian mother, through her longing for her beloved Italy, 
had unconsciously planted within the* body of her unborn 
child the seeds of a divine talent, which, through cultiva- 
tion, was to grow and blossom and become instrumental 
in placing him in the front rank as gentleman and painter ; 
where, with brush and canvas, he would become a messenger 
of joy to thousands. It is not an uncommon thing to see 
genius spring from the plebeian ranks, and we wonder at 
it; but I am convinced that could we trace those indi- 
viduals from conception to birth, we would find that, at 
some moment, the plain common mother, for some reason, 
had been the recipient of a divine inspiration. The in- 
spiration may have been totally foreign to the mother’s 
normal condition, as we who have studied this subject know 
that at such times the mother is possessed of many strange 
vagaries. In the light of these facts you can readily see 
how important it is that mothers should be cared for. 
This world would become heaven indeed, if children were 
brought into it properly. I think it is the crying sin of 
our churches to-day that they do not give more attention 
to this subject. Clergymen that stand in the high places 
of the world seldom or never raige their voices against 
this awful crime. They often preach to parents about 
bringing up their children, but not how to bring them 
into the world, or how the mind of the mother leaves its 
indelible impression through life on her child. Most 


Thoughtless Chatter. 469 

mothers are ignorant and think there is no responsibility 
until the child is born. Bring children into the world 
right, and there will not be so much trouble about bring- 
ing them up. We study how to propagate all kinds of 
animals and plants, but children come or force themselves 
into the world haphazard, and are generally unwelcome. 
A child should be welcomed with joy as a gift from God, 
and its life should be full of love, free from endless chiding 
and eternal lecturing. The natural child is like a flower 
that requires light and warmth.” 

^Then you think it is only women that are responsible 
for the human race?” asked Edith. 

^Ty no means. Men are almost, if not equally re- 
sponsible. A man has a tremendous responsibility resting 
upon him. He should thoroughly understand this and 
know that he has no right to become a father unless he is 
mentally, morally, and physically fit. He should know 
also how to care for his wife, and know that during the 
period of maternity she should have the tenderest care. 
Anger, malice, jealousy, envy are all reflected at such 
times, and leave an indelible impression. I know a man 
who made a great study of propagating fine stock, reading 
books, and giving time and painstaking study to the sub- 
ject, while at the same time his wife, throughout maternity, 
was crossed, irritated and neglected. And I have seen 
the result : fine beautiful stock and dwarfed human nature. 
Oh, it is pitiful! 

‘Tn regard to the theory advanced here, this afternoon, 
that boys can bring up themselves, I consider it one of the 
saddest and cruellest phases of our civilization of to-day, 
and a blight on Christendom. The accepted idea that a 
man’s sins and infidelities do not count the same as a 
woman’s is infamous. Man’s soul, properly attuned to 
the Infinite, and placed on high and holy things, will find 


470 


Mary Starkweather. 

that nature will take care of him. But this strength can 
only come to him through communion with the Infinite. 

‘^Every home should have its Holy of Holies — a place 
of quiet set apart for meditation, where one can rest for 
a little time, shutting out all perturbing and unpleasant 
infiuences. Thus communing heart to heart with nature’s 
God.” 

^^Oh, Mrs. Thornton, I don’t know what to say,” said 
Pansy. “1 never thought of these things before.” 

^^Nor I,” said Annie, ^^and it seems dreadful.” 

understand perfectly,” said Mary, ^That you have 
not ; but I wish you would think about it. I wish I could 
feel that the thoughtless chatter of the women here this 
afternoon, had been for good, which it will be if it causes 
you to think, to look down deep into life, and to resolve 
that you will begin, now, to so form and mould your lives 
that these great sins may never be laid at your door. Your 
power is great, if you can only realize it. You can make 
yourselves just what you wish to be.” 

‘^Oh, if we only could,” said Annie. 

This wish was echoed by every one present. 

^^The only thing is it seems so complex,” said one of 
the young ladies. 

^Hf only we could have you with us always,” said Pansy. 

^^Do your own thinking. When you make up your mind 
to this study, you will find nothing complex. Your vision 
will become clarified ; you will always be weak if you lean 
upon others for support. You know you can come to me 
at any and all times for any advice that I am able to give 
you. But I would have you strong and rely on yourselves. 
When you come to study the mind, you will find it is not 
an idealized something of which we know nothing. It 
has real force — mind-force. It vibrates and influences 
other minds, or it is influenced by other minds, according 


471 


Thoughtless Chatter. 

to its intensity. Keep yourselves as happy as possible. I 
do not believe in tears. I think we ought to try and live 
always on the Mount of Transfiguration.^’ 

^^Oh, Mrs. Thornton/’ said Edith earnestly, “I am sure 
we all appreciate your frankness in talking to us as you 
have; and I believe I voice every one here when I say we 
will surely profit by all you have said. I feel, already, 
much wiser than I did an hour ago, and as if it had been 
the most profitable hour of my life. But we must still 
come to you as our director and leader for advice and 
counsel.” 

will be a student with you, and we will work together 
and hope for good results. Therefore, we must be con- 
stantly on our guard, and to be on our guard is to pray 
without ceasing ; and to pray without ceasing is to have the 
mind and soul constantly filled with those heavenly at- 
tributes, Love, Truth, Charity and Justice. Then, and 
not until then, will you be guided and directed. You will 
then be able to steer your little bark safely through doubts, 
mists and uncertainties.” 


472 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MIS-SPENT ENERGIES. 

At the moment our last chapter closed, could the reader 
have looked in upon the group and have seen these fair, 
young girls around Mary, as she sat in their midst teach- 
ing them, I fancy it would have left on memory’s wall 
an ineffaceable picture, one that would linger with him 
forever. 

Mary was still so young, so wondrously fair, so beauti- 
ful, that, at this moment, she looked as if hardly of this 
earth. 

To-day, as so frequently happened, she was gowned in 
her favorite material — soft, creamy, clinging crepe de 
chine, richly embroidered. The gown was cut away at the 
neck, and the sleeves were opened to the shoulders, show- 
ing the perfect, snowy throat and arms without adorn- 
ment. The only bit of color or ornament she wore, was 
a long, narrow brooch set with three rare, flaming, gleam- 
ing topazes. They were surrounded with brilliants set 
in silver. This brooch conflned the folds of her gown at 
the waist, and glowed like triple suns. 

Edith was attired in a magnificent, soft India silk of 
deepest orange, powdered with black bees ; and around her 
bare thoat and arms, were coiled black serpents of glisten- 


473 


Mis-spent Energies. 

iiig jst, with jeweled heads. Her jetty hair was artistic- 
ally arranged and held in place by jeweled pins and combs. 

Pansy was enveloped in a diaphanous mystery of pink 
chiffon and silk, while Annie was gowned in palest violet 
and rose. The remainder of the group were as richly at- 
tired. The appointments of the room, in which they 
were seated, were in excellent taste, and everything in it 
was of the richest, rarest, and most costly description. 

It was the last place the teacher of science, the philan- 
tropist, or the teacher of Truth, would have looked for 
practical disciples. It was the kind of room, dress, and 
surroundings into which the missionary rarely enters, and 
from which he usually flies. The splendor of the inmates 
of these homes, their artistic love of the beautiful, their 
culture, their very reflnement, seem to bar them out from 
the only thing that, if they possessed it, would make them, 
with their endowments and surroundings, as nearly per- 
fect as it would be possible to become: charity — not of 
the purse, for that they already have, but charity of the 
soul. They need to be given the cud of plain, practical 
thought, to become, as it were ruminating animals. 

They are too cultured, too sensible, to endure for a mo- 
ment the whining, canting, hypocritical creature with a 
mission. But there are many true, noble Christians, grand 
good men and women, that have been brought up amidst 
reflned surroundings, who know the value of a word in sea- 
son, yet when they feel called to speak this word, seldom 
or never speak it among their own, but seem to feel they 
are called to go out and down among a totally different 
class of people from their intellectual equals. True mis- 
sionary work should begin at home. 

Can poor sewing and shop girls and clerks, who, from 
their cradle to manhood and womanhood, have fought a 
battle for bread and raiment, who have had to work or 


474 


Mary Starkweather. 

starve, who have had little or no time for culture, can 
they be more receptive or more appreciative or need true 
missionary work more than this bevy of brilliant-gowned 
girls that surrounded Mary? And yet, women that feel 
called upon to do this kind of work, pass these girls by 
and hunt up the poor working-girl and lecture her. To 
compare the best stratum of the two classes, the refined 
rich and the refined poor, it is unquestionably the refined 
rich class that gives the least thought to dress in spite of 
assertions to the contrary. People of this class are usual- 
ly born to the purple. Their desires as to dress and beau- 
tiful surroundings are so quickly materialized through the 
medium of gold, that, comparatively speaking, it is not 
a lingering thought to them, for a woman consciously 
well-gowned, forgets her dress and thinks of something 
else. 

In point of fact, it is the poor working-girl that worries 
and frets and thinks about dress. Nor is she to be blamed 
nor lectured for it. It is part of woman’s dower of woman- 
liness to wish to look comely; and the rational desire for 
dress is perfectly Justifiable in high or low. 

The working-girl is usually an ambitio is girl, who loves 
the good things in life. Therefore, in her hard life of 
straitened circumstances she endeavors to appear well. She 
spends hours over the problem of dress and personal adorn- 
ment. After getting a new gown, the question comes of 
how is it possible to eke out a new hat and boots and gloves 
and all the dainty accessories to go with a properly ap- 
pointed costume, and without which, even a plain and sim- 
ple outfit would offend the taste of a natural and well- 
conditioned American working-girl. 

But how many of them have even that much? Their 
wages are so cruelly small they cannot. Therefore, this 
thought of dress is in their minds all the time. Perhaps 


475 


Mis-spent Energies. 

such an one will crush her pride and go out in an incom- 
plete toilet, — respectable dress, but with worn boots or 
gloves or a shabby hat. If she is as sensitive as most 
refined people are, she cannot forget the incongruity and 
enjoy herself; for she is conscious every Lour of the de- 
ficiencies of her toilet. She feels that every one she meets, 
knows them just as she does. 

How many affairs, lectures. Art-exhibitions, and things 
of that sort, are there, where young people can go to im- 
prove themselves and where the cost is nothing. And yet, 
how many stay away from the very places they would like 
to go, because they do not wish to be seen without being 
properly attired. No use to tell them not to mind it, and 
lecture them about the vanity of dress. To be decently 
and tastefully appareled is not vanity. It is part of the 
eternal fitness of things. The breath spent in lecturing 
them had better be spent lecturing their rich employer, 
who grinds them down to the barest necessities. 

If the mind grows by what it feeds on, as has been 
scientifically demonstrated, then the working-girl should 
not be blamed for her desire for dress. 

If women and girls in high places can be made to think, 
they are the ones that can do the missionary work. They 
have it in their power to help these girls and revolutionize 
their lives, and give them some sunshine. Giving their 
cold, hard, round dollars will not do it. They must give 
their thoughts, their co-operation, in ‘order to better the 
situation. They have the time, the influence, and can work 
out the problem. No need to put on some kind of garb, 
or set oneself apart ; no need to go to the working-girls in 
a well-appointed, though perhaps a plain gown and lecture 
them on the beauty of contentment and holiness; but in- 
stead, they should go to those who employ them, in their 
own set, and never rest until the ways of living are so 


476 


Mary Starkweather. 

adjusted that the unfortunate women are enabled to enjoy 
not only an equivalent for their labor, but are protected 
from wanton temptation. If the laborers could only learn 
to labor among the sinners at their own doors, and not 
feel called upon to rush to people whose ways are so 
totally foreign to theirs! 

Following, is a sketch of the characters of two good true 
men, both willing to consecrate their lives to the better- 
ment of their fellow-men; but they are the antipodes of 
each other. They start out to put their desires in execu- 
tion. They enter a palatial city home. They pass from 
room to room, all beautifully appointed, and enter one 
that is stored with the rarest treasures of Art, the quintes- 
sence of the brains of men that lived, labored, and died, 
building and crystallizing their thoughts and souls with 
brush and chisel, into marble and color, that have lasted 
from ancient Greece to modern Eome; and which will 
last for ages yet unborn. Many people are in the room, 
who move about in such a way that one knows they are 
among the things that they appreciate and understand. 
There is no surprise, no wonder in their faces, as they 
touch the exquisite articles, only love and appreciation and 
an air of companionship as they gaze on these rare and 
beautiful treasures. 

Among them, is an exquisitively polished instrument. 
Above the keyboard is a white sheet of paper on which, 
to one of these men; are strange characters in black. It is 
the crystallized soul of Hayden. 

One of the men of our sketch, seats himself at the instru- 
ment, and immediately the sounds of conversation die 
away, and keen interest is shown on every face. 

His hands glide over the keys in a sweet prelude that 
quickens the long-slumbering soul, and Haydn, for the 
moment, lives again and speaks to the souls of men. The 


477 


Mis-spent Energies. 

music dies away. There are tears in the eyes of the listen- 
ers. Their souls have been touched by the hand of the 
Master. He rises and leaves the instrument. His com- 
panion has watched him, and is charmed. He feels he 
can do the same. Therefore, with great assurance, he 
takes the vacated seat. There are the keys before him; 
the perfect instrument, the harmony within. The rest 
remains with him. He places his hands upon the keys, 
and his fingers wander over them. But what is the result ? 
Discord the most discordant. In vain he puts forth his 
best efforts. The harder he labors the worse the con- 
fusion. Not one harmonious sound can he produce. He 
can fret it, but he cannot play upon it. The very peo- 
ple he would charm, fiy in frenzy from him, and he is 
looked upon as a transgressor. His energies have been 
wasted. With his companion, he passes into another room 
in which there is a safety-vault. There is the vault and 
there is the key. The treasure lies within. He feels 
called to unlock it. He has unlocked many doors, and he 
is sure he can unlock this one. This is simple and easy. 
He takes the key with confidence, but, try as he may, the 
vault remains locked with its treasures hugged close to 
its heart. He cannot understand. Why is this ? Simply 
because he does not understand the combination. But lo ! 
the master takes the key, the man who understands; and 
at his touch the doors fly back, and the glittering mass of 
wealth lies before him. It is with this vault as with the 
instrument that is the medium by which the master, with 
his magic, touches the dead and gone souls that resurrect 
themselves for him, but will not waken at the touch of 
alien hands. 

The two companions go out and penetrate the wilder- 
ness. The harvest is ripe and should be garnered; but 
the laborers sleep, totally regardless of their duties and re- 


478 Mary Starkweather. 

sponsibilities. They must be aroused. But how? The 
man that awoke Haydn to life, sees a mammoth horn 
hanging on a tree. He feels called upon to blow it. He 
thinks it will be beautiful to rouse these sleeping men and 
see them set earnestly to work. He so desires to be in- 
strumental in starting them from their oversleep into 
activity ! He places the horn to his lips and puffs and 
blows. What is the result? A little discordant toot! 
He tries again and again. All in vain. There comes the 
unmusical note only, that jars upon his sensitive ear and 
makes no impression. 

The sleepers still sleep on; or, if a faint echo reaches 
their ears, they laugh and sneer at his puny efforts. He 
has wasted his energies. 

But his friend, who could not wake the soul of Haydn, 
takes the horn, inflates his lungs, and with the greatest 
ease blows from it a long, musical, soulful blast that 
wakens both field and forest, and echoes back from Na- 
ture's sounding-board of tree and shrub the musical sound 
as it travels through atmospheric ether, lingering and 
dying away in the sweetest music, until it is gathered on 
the bosom of silence and garnered away among the 
heavenly harmonies, there to become immortal, as an ever- 
lasting monument to noble effort. 

This trumpet-blast rouses the sleeping laborers, and 
sends them into the field with such a stimulus from its 
thunder-blast, that the sluggishness falls away and they 
work with ardor; for their energies are fresh-born, or re- 
newed, and their harvest becomes abundant. 

Here the trumpet-blower is the master. 

So it is in this life of mis-spent energies. People go 
from one extreme to another. Little by little, the horn* 
blower may learn to manipulate the keys of the musical 
instrument; and the master of the musical instrument 


479 


Mis-spent Energies. 

may have strength enough, and learn how to sufficiently 
inflate his lungs, to blow his soul into the horn, in order 
to blow it out and into the souls of the sleepers he would 
rouse. But the knowledge comes to each gradually. 

When the rich step from their lofty pedestals to try to 
pull, from what they consider sin and sloth, the people im- 
mured there, it is frequently with a patronizing air, a 
holier than thou atmosphere, and an air of, "See how good 
I am to come to you.’^ 

Why should not the intelligent poor resent this just as 
much as the intelligent, refined rich resent the canting, 
whining, psalm-singing missionary-crank that startles him, 
as he is about to step into his carriage, or is endeavoring 
to catch a train, with the query: 

"Are you prepared to meet your Gawd?” and thrust an 
italicized tract into his hand, written by another crank, 
equally as idiotic as himself, the English of which would 
set a well-conditioned man’s teeth on edge, and paralyze 
his reasoning faculties, even if the morals attached were 
incrusted with the diamonds and gold of Truth. 


480 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

LAST SPEECH OF THE POLITICAL CAMPAIGN. 

Charles had devoted himself to his political work all 
summer, and election-time was drawing nigh. He had no 
selfish interests. He put himself out of the question, for 
he was working for his country and the people. 

Many politicians were pessimistic and declared that the 
political status was dark, corrupt, and in a totally demor- 
alized condition, from which it never could emerge save 
by blood. 

These political opinions served to stimulate Charles. 
He became a staunch leader. He was ever hopeful of his 
country, and for political adjustment; in brief, he was a 
gilt-edged politician. But while he was no fanatic, he 
could see the discontent of the people, and that it was grow- 
ing : that they were becoming tired of inactivity and weary 
of waiting for better times and advanced wages. He saw 
the oppression of those in power and felt it was not j'ust. 
He felt the great end and obj'ect in life was happiness, 
and that happiness could best be secured by being rational ; 
and he knew it was difficult to be rational if one were suf- 
fering, or if loved ones were suffering, for the necessities 
of life. He visited the poor in the tenement district, and 


Last Speech of the Campaign. 481 

felt that their environment was so bad that they were not 
fit to do intelligent work. He did not wonder at the 
unhappiness and discontent, and felt that it was the fire- 
brand that was causing the trouble; and while he was 
capable of seeing both sides of the question, and knowing 
that those in power were not always cold and uncharit- 
able any more than the poor were always grateful, still he 
took into consideration their suffering, and felt that a step 
must be taken in the right direction. 

He made up his mind as to the right course to pursue 
in their behalf, and would not swerve from his principles. 

He had his political enemies. Some were ignorant, 
some were idle, and others malicious ; but in spite of their 
efforts, his election was unmistakably indicated. A plan, 
however, was quietly hatched to defeat him. A fearful 
lie had been concocted. The intention was not to “spring 
it” until the day of election, when it would be too late for 
him to refute it; and had their schemes not miscarried, 
without doubt they would have been successful in turning 
the election in favor of his opponent. 

The night before the election, there was to be a grand 
rally, and Charles was to make his last speech. On the 
night in question, just before entering the hall where he 
was to speak, the whole nefarious plot was laid before him. 

Charles was angry, but it was not the delirious impetu- 
osity that imperils sound judgment. He made a ringing 
speech that so roused his audience that they cheered wildly. 
Xear the close of his address he referred to the plot, and 
disclosed to his audience all the methods his enemies had 
taken to defy detection and defeat him. 

When he had fully exposed the malice and injustice, 
and the motive for it all, he said: 

“This underhand work comes upon me without the 
effect of making me weaker, but stronger for the struggle 


482 


Mary Starkweather. 

that is before me. My reliance is in my constituency 
and in their sense of justice for fair dealing. 

^‘1 will say no more. I do not even stoop to refute these 
infamous accusations. I feel I can let the matter rest 
wholly and entirely with you, being sure that you will be 
instrumental in deciding for yourselves which is the right 
course for you to pursue.” 

Charles sat down amidst a perfect whirlwind of ap- 
plause. Instead of weakening his cause, his enemies had 
strengthened it. That speech elected him. And again, 
Sidney Banks had squandered to no purpose the money 
he adored. 


The Opening of the Social Season. 483 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE OPENING OF THE SOCIAL SEASON. 

So many places and things sleep through the winter; 
but the homes of the rich sleep through the long sum- 
mer, and it takes a frost, a killing frost, to wake them to 
life. 

The frost came early, this eventful autumn, and a pre- 
mature and plentiful snowstorm caused the social world 
to flock back to the city, and the gay winter season came 
in with a rush. Balls, parties, receptions, teas and din- 
ners followed, one after another, in rapid succession ; 
among the very first of which, was a grand ball given by 
the Brandts for the purpose of having Pansy formally 
presented. 

There had been a sudden and unexpected onslaught of 
.titled foreigners from abroad, that had set society in a 
flutter. 

Edith had a girl-friend who had gone abroad and pur- 
chased with hard, yellow, American dollars a title, and 
as an accessory or adjunct to the title, a nondescript, 
senile fraction of a man. 

Many American women have married foreigners, some 
happily and some otherwise, the latter being by far the 


484 


Mary Starkweather. 

most common ; and they usually have found a master, and 
a hard one. Many of these foreigners make admirable 
lovers; but the love-making almost always ends at the 
altar, and unlike history, it never repeats itself. The 
wife becomes a sort of convenience, a sort of necessary evil, 
to her lord and master. He has all the liberties : she none. 

What disillusions for the silly American girl, who has 
based her ideals, in this respect, on American ideas, 
where the wife is the companion and equal of the husband 
in everything, and in the matter of love and tenderness and 
attention is his superior ; and it is he that serves. 

Occasionally one of these title-buyers has the courage 
to take the whip-hand and maintain it, in spite of her 
would-be master. 

It was so with this friend of Edith. She had bought 
and had paid for her title, which she was enjoying to the 
utmost, and she cared little for the male adjunct. She 
had now returned to America on a visit, and in her wake 
were a flood of admiring Anglomanics and eligible titles, 
who were ready to be cried off to the highest bidder. 
And, as king of these fortune-hunters, came the duke to 
whom Edith had been engaged. He had determined to 
renew his suit. Edith’s friend was most anxious that 
the duke’s efforts should not be in vain, and bent her ener- 
gies to bringing about a reconciliation between them. 

Edith had met, while abroad, almost all this freshly 
imported party, and had the honor (?) of turning a deaf 
ear to more than one of them. 

The duke was a magnificent specimen of manhood. He 
was six feet tall, broad-shouldered, with a fine, military 
bearing. He was rather fair, having chestnut-brown hair 
and blue eyes. He was really striking, both in face and 
figure; and to look at him was to cease to wonder that 
he should have made a conquest of Edith’s heart. The 


The Opening of the Social Season. 485 

puzzling question to most people, was how she had had 
the courage to break the engagement. For it was an open 
secret that she, not he, had dissolved the compact. 

Shortly after arriving, the duke had sought an interview 
with Colonel Brandt, declaring his unaltered regard for his 
daughter, that he had put aside the cause of the rupture, 
his morganatic wife and family; that it was merely a 
matter of form, or of convenience, in England. There 
was nothing in it. He requested the privilege of renew- 
ing his addresses to Edith. 

Colonel Brandt gave his consent, but at the same time, 
he assured the duke that his suit would be useless. But 
his grace felt sanguine. He had come determined not to 
take no for an answer. 

All the titled nobility were present at the Brandt hall, 
and, conspicuous among them, was his grace. Mrs. 
Brandt felt pleased and flattered at the renewal of the 
duke^s suit. 

When Edith knew that she must meet him, she nerved 
herself for the ordeal. She had not recovered from the 
impression he had made upon her, and, although she would 
not marry him, and although she despised herself for it, 
she felt she loved him still, and that though this love was 
barred out of her life, no other would ever take the place 
of it. 

On the night of the ball, she wore a rose-violet velvet 
dress, embroidered in gold. Her arms and neck were 
adorned with bracelets and necklace of amethysts and 
diamonds set in gold. With her purple-tinted black hair 
and her voilet eyes, with their long lashes and their black 
brows, she made a picture that was truly regal. She was 
perfectly self-contained. Never had she home herself 
with more dignity and grace. 

In great contrast to Edith, was Pansy, all in foamy 


486 Mary Starkweather. 

white, looking very much like a good, healthy sunbeam^ 
rosy, dimpled, clinging, with the color coming and going 
in her face; and her eyes like stars. She was radiantly 
happy, and created a great sensation among the sterner 
sex, especially in the hearts of the fortune-hunters from 
across the sea. 

These two girls were queens of fortune as well as of 
beauty, and the duke found himself wondering if his suit 
failed with Edith, what would be his chances with this 
little novice; and he bent all his energies toward making 
himself agreeable. He preferred Edith. Her stately, 
regal beauty and manner would accord with his title and 
position. He felt he would be proud of her, that she 
would hold her own with any woman in the world. In 
fact, he loved her quite as much as it was possible for him 
to love any woman. But he loved her money more. 

Edith felt her heart thump at the sight of him, and at 
the sound of his voice; but, summoning all her strength 
and pride, she met him without a tremor. Hick watched 
her with curiosity, when she met the duke, and afterward, 
through the entire evening. Of late he began to realize 
she had a heart, a warm, true woman’s heart that beat 
with noble emotions, and he also wondered if it were sus- 
ceptible to the finer feelings of love. Hick was not in love 
with Edith. Yet, at one time, he had been very near it, 
nearer than with any other woman. And, someway, as 
he watched her this evening, and saw how beautiful she 
was, and how royally she bore herself, and as the realiza- 
tion had come to him of the depth of her nature, he felt 
a queer sensation come over him, and something seemed to 
grip his heart when he thought of the possibility of her 
caring for this handsome duke. In the last few months 
they had been thrown together almost daily; and each had 
become a surprise to the other, in the persistence with 


The Opening of the Social Season. 487 

which they still clung to their new pursuits. Edith had 
feared, each day, that she might see signs of the old apathy 
stealing over Dick, and was surprised that she did not. 
And he had supposed that when the social season arrived, 
her interest would lag. But, as yet, there was no sign of 
it. He had become much attached to her, as a friend, and 
he felt it would be hard to give her up, more especially 
to one of these titled foreigners that now swarmed around 
her and poured their flattery into her ears. 

And Pansy — he had watched her also ; saw what a belle 
she bid fair to become, and wondered what the end for 
both would be. Edith, Pansy and Annie Barry had all 
grown bold in their philanthropic work; and while they 
took Mary^s advice, and did not talk much about it, it 
was seldom out of their minds', and they were ever ready 
to discuss it wherever it would do any good. They had 
begun to see with Mary’s eyes, to comprehend the eternal 
fitness of things, to realize there was a time and place for 
everything. 

They were now all engaged in the study of the power of 
Mind, and daily, almost hourly, they were having demon- 
strations to prove the theory correct. 

Dick, Bennie and Donald having also become deeply 
immersed in the same study, it can easily be seen how they, 
under the strong leadership of such a woman as Mary, 
must have been drawn together in an unusual way. Annie 
and Pansy, both so young and so confiding, to whom as 
yet, nothing had occurred to rufile the gently-flowing sur- 
face of their lives, had seemed to come at once into the 
peaceful harbor of this comforting thought, without much 
difficulty. But it had been harder for Edith. Metaphori- 
cally speaking, she had been compelled to fight every inch 
of the way over the ground; but at last, the great truths 
were becoming clearer to her, and it was beginning to tell 


488 Mary Starkweather. 

on her life. She had, little by little, dropped her cold, 
cynical speech and manner, and, at times, when the violet 
eyes would grow soft and tender, her face would become 
so womanly, so inexpressibly beautiful, that to other eyes 
than Dick’s she became a marvel; and it is not a matter 
of surprise that she became a wonder to him nor that he 
became absorbed in studying her and in watching the trans- 
formation. 

Edith was to the young lady members of the smart set 
what Dick was to the young men. She was a power. And 
the class in mind-culture and its deeper metaphysical 
meaning, comprised the best and most thoughtful of her 
acquaintances and, little by little, the influence of these 
girls was manifesting itself in the circle in which they 
moved. 

The new stock company had been formed, according to 
the suggestion and under the direction of Charles and the 
general; and through the influence of Dick, Bennie and 
Donald and the co-operation of the young ladies, the 
greater part of the stock had been sold, and they were all 
in high spirits over the result. 

The church project was also making rapid strides. 

Colonel Brandt, when he found that Pansy was entirely 
well, was more than rejoiced, and, one morping, at New- 
port, he had said at the breakfast-table: 

^^What can we do about this? I presume I will not be 
allowed to present Mrs. Thornton with a check, will I ?” 

"'Oh, no !” exclaimed Edith, "you cannot do that.” 

"Well, I feel I ought to do something. Can’t you sug- 
gest some way out of the difficulty?” asked her father. 

"Mrs. Thornton is interested in some extensive philan- 
thropic movements. We might make a handsome con- 
tribution to some charitable project,” replied Edith. "I, 
like you, feel we ought to do something in recognition 


•1 


The Opening of the Social Season. 489 

of the great blessing we have received in the restoration 
of health to Pansy.” 

She spoke so seriously, so earnestly, that, for a moment, 
her father glanced at her in surprise, and then at his wife 
who was quietly sipping her chocolate. She glanced up 
and met his eye. She had told him nothing of the scene 
with Edith, and it instantly occurred to her that with a 
munificent gift to some charitable institution or movement, 
all this fuss about charity work might stop, and Edith 
become satisfied to let the matter rest. So, she said: 

think Edith is right. We should do something, and, 
as we cannot give money to Mrs. Thornton, the next best 
thing is to give it to charity.” And, with a view to con- 
ciliating Edith and relieving herself from any thought or 
responsibility in the matter, she continued: “And I think 
we might leave the matter entirely in the hands of Edith 
as to what the charity shall be.” 

This surprised and pleased Edith very much, and her 
eyes expressed her delight. Her father said: 

“Very well. Wefil leave it entirely in your hands, 
Edith. I give you carte blanche to my check-book.” 

“What is the limit?” laughed Edith, quizzically. 

“Oh, so you don’t bankrupt me. I’ll not grumble,” re- 
plied her father good-naturedly. “Give what you like.” 

So, when Edith had succeeded in interesting the rectors 
we have heretofore mentioned, she had hinted that she 
would make a generous subscription to their community- 
fund. But they were more than surprised to have her 
head the two lists of stockholders with the sum of two 
hundred thousand dollars each. It had been a wonderful 
stimulus, and the balance of the stock went rapidly; so 
that these churches could feel that they would now have 
an entire community of their own. 

The rectors had moved cautiously and quietly, and the 


490 


Mary Starkweather. 

project had only now really taken perfect shape, and was 
beginning to be noised about. These good men were more 
than delighted, especially at the interest manifested by the 
young members of their congregations. 

In the meantime, the Thorntons opened their Fifth 
Avenue mansion with a grand ball. The house was one 
of the handsomest and most extensive on the avenue, and 
it was luxuriously furnished. 

On account of the stand Mary had taken there was much 
controversy as to the outcome. And it really was not 
entirely a tempest in a teapot. There were other influ- 
ential women in the smart set besides Mary and the 
Brandts, and there was, undoubtedly, a very ugly under- 
current of talk setting in, by some of these, against Mary, 
as it was known that it was she alone who was leading not 
only Edith, but the three gentlemen, who had been society 
favorites, into running after these strange idols. And it 
must be confessed that the ball was looked forward to with 
considerable curiosity. The forces were ranging them- 
selves on both sides, and this ball would decide Mary’s 
social standing. And many, who did not care, one way or 
the other, buckled on their armor and went, as they fully 
expected to be present at a social squall. Some intended 
to remain only a short time and then go to some other func- 
tion, for they felt this ball would be largely a refrigerated 
affair, and there would be no enjoyment of the usual kind. 
One lady, speaking to a friend about Mary, said: 

^‘^She has a lot of quixotic notions about society and 
religion. So, I warn you, before you go, I think it will 
be a sort of cross between a prayer-meeting and a Salvation 
Army jubilee.” 

“I presume she will take up a collection for the poor,” 
said my lady of the victoria, on the night of the ball, as 
she entered her carriage and took her seat by Horace Burt. 


The Opening of the Social Season. 491 

^There is no telling what she will tackle us for/’ replied 
he. 

The home of the Thorntons presented a brilliant scene, 
as the guests entered it, the effect of which lingered with 
them long afterward. The walls were covered with gor- 
geous tapestry, and with paintings and mirrors in richly 
gilded frames. There were rare art treasures that repre- 
sented the best from the Orient and the Occident. Every- 
where rich exotics were blooming. Mantels, windows, 
every available spot, were banked with them. Ensconced 
beneath a mass of feathery palms, a stringed orchestra 
was playing soft hut inspiring music. 

Mary, who was famed for her beauty, was never more 
surpassingly lovely than on this night, as she stood there, 
receiving her guests, an heirloom of the Starkweathers, 
the priceless pearl necklace, clasping her throat. Her 
dress was soft gray, embroidered in silver, and it set off 
her warm, rosy beauty to perfection. Many beautiful 
women were present; but the hostess, so young and fair, 
so gifted, outshone them all. 

Mary and Charles moved about among their guests, 
bestowing a look here, a handclasp there. This queenly 
woman, this kingly man, had a magnetism all their own 
that few could resist. 

One society man, after talking to Mary, said to a friend, 
as she turned away : 

“Mrs. Thornton is a quietist.’ She will never grow 
old. Wrinkles and gray hairs will know her not. I had 
feared she was changed from what I had heard. I am 
glad to know she is really so well balanced.” 

“Oh, she is not so overstrained in her ideas of duty and 
self-sacrifice that she forgets to be sensible and charming,” 
was the reply. 

At sight of Colonel Eversoll coming toward her, leaning 


492 


Mary Starkweather. 

on her father’s arm, Mary went forward and gave him both 
her hands ; and to his remark about being an old fogy, she 
said, with her winsome smile: 

‘^^In spite of the gray hairs and bald heads, there is not 
an old person here to-night. They don’t grow in this 
atmosphere.” 

Several came forward to greet the colonel, who, as usual, 
was brimming over with jollity and good-humor. And, as 
the two veterans moved down the room, of course there 
were remarks made about the colonel’s agnosticism. One 
gentleman said: 

^^How many clergymen are looking forward to that man’s 
death-bed as a test of what he has lived by. They think 
it will be his day of repentance when he comes to a bed of 
disease and ill-health.” 

Mary had stood watching the colonel and her father 
with a look of affection in her eyes, and as she turned her 
glance away, some one asked: 

^^You know him so well, Mrs. Thornton. What do you 
think about it?” 

^Tn my opinion, he will die a natural death. The mind 
builds the body. He has been so humane. He has so 
loved Nature and lived so near to Nature’s heart. He 
could die no other way. Lingering disease will never con- 
sume him. When his time comes, he will draw the drapery 
of his couch about him, and depart without pain or suffer- 
ing, like stepping from this room into the next.” 

^^Have no fear,” said Charles; ‘^‘he will meet death as 
he has met every obstacle in life, like a man.” 

All the conventional things were done. No one left as 
had been anticipated. Every one was gay, and seemed to 
be at their very best. 

Mary had selected the music. It was clear cut and in- 
spiring, not the languorous, sensuous kind. 


The Opening of the Social Season. 493 

The lights were subdued, but brilliant. There were no 
dark corners and nooks. There seemed to he no desire to 
"swoon^’ and ^^moon.” 

At the end of the winter, it was voted the most delight- 
ful ball of the season. 


494 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE MEETING OF PHILANTHROPISTS. 

In order to expedite matters and to come in touch with 
the people they wished to assist, the ^Trinity’^ had es- 
tablished a reading-room down in the tenement district, 
and Mary was quite a frequent visitor there, and lately it 
had become a habit to take one or more of the young girls 
with her that they might, little by little, see and learn 
something of the people they were working so earnestly 
to relieve. She also began taking them round to the 
various settlements and charitable institutions, thus gradu- 
ally familiarizing them with the stupendous work that 
was being done by loving hearts and willing hands, and 
of the thousands and thousands of dollars contributed by 
the more fortunate class for the aid and comfort of the 
less fortunate. 

They were frequently accompanied by one or more of 
the “Trinity,” as they all three were much interested in 
studying the “settlement question,” and the manner in 
which these settlements were being conducted in some parts 
of the city. They had made the acquaintance of many of 
the workers, and through them had made selections of sev- 
eral families for the new community. 


The Meeting of Philanthropists. 495 

The time had now come to begin placing the people in 
their new homes at Shamrock. 

They had the land for another community and nearly 
all the stock had been sold. And Dick thought it would 
encourage the stockholders if they could meet the ladies 
and come in actual touch with the work. 

Dick was full of the idea, and with this end in view, he 
had consulted with Mary and Edith. And an afternoon 
had been selected, invitations sent out, and there was a 
full attendance. 

Among those that Dick had invited, were Horace Burt 
and another man who wrote and reported for the various 
newspapers; and at their jesting remarks about writing 
up the aifair, Dick had replied: 

^^Oh, there is no secret any longer about what we are 
doing. So I give you carte hlanche to write whatever you 
like. And if you have any friends you would like to bring, 
you can do so.” 

The time appointed for the meeting, was two o’clock 
in the afternoon, and it was held at the Thorntons. 

As Mary met those that came, she noticed that there 
were but few with whom she was not quite familiar. One 
of these was a Mrs. Winston, a woman about forty years 
old, whom Mary particularly fancied. There was an in- 
describable charm and grace about her. Her gentle breed- 
ing, her refinement^ were apparent in her tasteful attire 
and in her address. Her eyes were fine, frank and blue. 
She was a writer and was much interested in all philan- 
thropic work. 

Horace Burt presented one of his friends, a Miss Patton, 
a woman perhaps thirty-five years old. On seeing her 
head and shoulders one would have thought her a man. 
Her hair was cropped close and she wore a man’s soft 
felt hat, collar, and cravat, and coat ; a rather short dress- 


496 Mary Starkweather. 

skirt, heavy, large shoes and stout gloves. Her attire 
simply showed comfort without the slightest regard to 
taste or style. She was angular, had high cheek-bones, 
sharp nose, high forehead, and an oval face. She looked 
savagely plain and stiff. She wrote poetry. She had an 
incredulous, supercilious look on her face as if she had a 
supreme contempt for every one present. She had, so 
she said, dedicated her life to the upliftment of the poor. 
She would never marry, as that would interfere with her 
work. She was president and secretary of several socie- 
ties, and occasionally reported for the papers. 

Edith had invited Mrs. Dolores, the woman who had 
advised her to go down into the slums. She was rather 
elderly. Her mouth had an expression of stern, rigid 
piety; it would have been beautiful had it been allowed 
to laugh, or if it ever had been warmly kissed or had ever 
given kisses. Her eyes, that were naturally fine, had a 
trick of filling with tears on the slightest provocation, or 
with no provocation at all. She was bewilderingly 
dressed. Her clothing was of excellent material, but it 
was a conglomeration of odd colors. She was very 
wealthy and had devoted herself to charitable and church 
work for years. Ho one doubted her sincerity. 

Dick had arranged the maps and charts on easels so 
that it would be easy for all to see them. Mary looked 
very chic in a perfectly plain tailor-made gown of soft 
gray. She opened the meeting by making a few remarks 
of welcome and very briefiy outlining the work in which 
they were interested. Then turning to Dick, she said : 

^^You are all acquainted with Mr. Braintree, I be- 
lieve, and so, no introduction is needed. He has become 
a practical worker in the lines of which I have just been 
speaking. I am sure he will be delighted to show his 
plans and answer all questions.” 


The Meeting of Philanthropists. 497 

Dick came forward, bowing, smiling and self-possessed, 
and declared this was his maiden speech. He made some 
bright and complimentary remarks, spoke of the beautiful 
day and the good attendance, and declared he took it as 
a good omen for the success of the undertaking. Then, 
he went on talking like an old philanthropist, forgetting 
in his zeal that he might be causing surprise. He said, 
in part: 

‘H feel confident that if our designs for the relief of 
these unfortunate people, can be carried into effect, a new 
era will be commenced in New York. I don’t think I 
am too sanguine.” 

He then gave a very clear, concise and lucid explanation 
of the charts on the easels. When he had explained them 
fully, and answered the many questions of the interested 
listeners, he said : 

^^You will see it is perfectly feasible and practical. And 
the superior advantages and opportunities we will be giv- 
ing these people to help themselves, will be, I feel positive, 
a great inducement to others to assist in extending these 
settlements.” 

Then he spoke of the stock that remained unsold, and 
said : 

^‘We wish it fully understood that neither aid nor gifts 
are solicited. It is a perfectly independent movement. 
Co-operation is gladly, thankfully accepted, but not 
solicited. You don’t have to go before a justice of peace 
and swear your life is irreproachable, nor wear any kind 
of a badge to advertise yourself.” 

Dick sat down amidst a pretty little fiutter and clap- 
ping of hands. It was a new sensation. His life began 
to become a wonder to him. 

While the guests were arriving, and before there were 
more than a half a dozen present, Edith accidentally 


498 Mary Starkweather. 

dropped a small silver bracelet. One of the gentlemen 
sprang forward and picked it up, and, as he restored it 
to her, said banteringly: 

will give you a hundred dollars for it if I may keep 
it as a souvenir.^^ 

The young ladies were raising a fund for the relief of 
some destitute families. 

‘^^Oh, what a splendid idea said Pansy clapping her 
hands. ‘^Let^s give a souvenir bazar and bring all the 
treasures we can spare from our personal belongings and 
sell them, and so raise the fund we desire.” 

This met the approval of those present, especially the 
gentlemen, who warmly applauded the idea and promised 
co-operation. And Edith was delegated to propose it when 
the guests had all assembled. This she now did, explain- 
ing what the fund was for. 

The suggestion was met with great approbation, and 
the whole matter was settled, as to time and place, in a 
very short time. 

Then, a dainty and charming old lady, with snowy hair, 
arose and said: 

^^Mrs. Thornton, I have heard a great deal about your 
metaphysical studies. I donT know anything about meta- 
physics, but I am told you found your theories on the 
Bible; and as I believe in the Bible, I am interested in 
knowing something about this new study. Won’t you 
tell us about it?” 

This was received with a fierce clapping of hands. 

Mary felt that this was not just the place for the ex- 
pounding of metaphysical truths, and she wished to hear 
from the visitors from other societies who were present; 
but she also wanted to be courteous to this dear, little 
white-haired lady. So she said: 

‘T fear we have not time to more than touch on the sur- 


The Meeting of Philanthropists. 499 

face of metaphysics, this afternoon.” And she went on 
to give a few generalities, and talked not over ten minutes 
on the subject. Then, smiling very sweetly, she, in her 
most winsome manner, spoke to Mrs. Dolores, and asked 
her if she would not tell them something of her work. 

Mrs. Dolores rose and came forward. For a brief in- 
stant a smile flitted across her face; but she banished it 
immediately as if ashamed of it. 

She had a peculiar voice with a decided quaver and 
whimper in it. She prefaced her remarks by saying that 
she had once been a member and votary of this same society 
as themselves; but the Lord had mercifully opened her 
eyes to the vain and frivolous life she was leading, and 
had shown her the way to a happier and more useful ex- 
istence. 

When she said this, she was quite overcome and pressed 
her handkerchief to her eyes. The seats of some of the 
male portion of the little audience, seemed to become un- 
comfortable; for they began to move restlessly and to ner- 
vously stroke their moustaches or adjust their collars more 
comfortably. It seemed to affect Norwood Brinsley par- 
ticularly, and he glanced vacantly from the window near 
him. 

Mrs. Dolores then spoke of the society of which she was 
president, and of the enormous work they were doing. 
She said they were a busy people with no time to give to 
social frivolities, that they worked more than they dis- 
cussed. She told of the number of families they had re- 
lieved, how much coal and wood they had distributed, how 
many aprons, flannel petticoats, and dresses they had made 
and given out — all of which was true, no doubt, and repre- 
sented an immense amount of work. 

She told how she had dismissed several of her servants 
and had done much of her own work and sewing, thereby 


500 Mary Starkweather. 

saving a good deal by this sacrifice of her personal com- 
fort to give to the poor. She sighed and said that sighs 
counted for more than smiles; that Jesus wept; that tears 
and suffering purified the soul. She said she sometimes 
sewed far into the night, her tears fiowing and blinding 
her eyes as she thought of the poor and their sufferings. 
She said she went down, personally into the slums, living 
as Jesus lived, and teaching as He taught; weeping as 
He wept; walking in His steps, with His dust-stained 
feet. She told how she had washed the children and had 
even got down on her knees and scrubbed a floor for a 
sick woman while the neighbors stood around and looked 
on in wonder to see a lady humble herself. 

^^Did you ever scrub a floor, Mrs. Thornton T’ she asked, 
turning to Mary. 

^'Ho, I never did,” replied Mary, simply and seriously. 

‘T thought not. Well,' I have done it, with my tears 
flowing freely, happy that my tears could flow and glad 
that I could feel sorrow in my heart. What is needed 
are those that are in earnest — those that will go right 
down in the slums and show the people that they can be- 
come one of them; that they will take them by the hand 
and call them, brother. We should let them see our tears 
and feel for them and reach out our arms to support them, 
to show we love them, and so turn their hearts from their 
wickedness to God. When you do this, and not until 
then, can you hope for that reward that always comes to 
those that are willing to sacrifice themselves. But it takes 
Christian fortitude and self-denial to accomplish this — 
a true, sincere turning to God, and a desire to do His 
works. His bidding ; this is necessary ; and in no other way 
can it be done.” 

Mrs. Dolores sat down amidst an almost profound 
silence, a few trying to show some recognition by faint 


The Meeting of Philanthropists. 501 

Mary arose, and, as brightly and as courteously as if 
she had been showered with compliments, turned to Miss 
Patton, and said : 

^^Shall we not have the pleasure of hearing your opinion 
and about your work?” 

Miss Patton came forward and stood for several seconds 
surveying those present in the loftiest and most super- 
cilious manner. 

"I do not think I have anything special to add to what 
Mrs. Dolores has already said. I am the president of our 
society, and we are workers. Metaphorically speaking, we 
roll up our sleeves and go at it and work. We don’t 
shirk.” 

She told of entertainments given, of turkeys distributed, 
of dinners packed in baskets and given out, of clothing, 
books, and toys collected and distributed. It seemed 
fabulous. It is doubtful if she -stated anything but the 
truth about what they gave and the work they did. But 
her voice sounded like the ice-man’s pick on a block of ice, 
and, as Donald declared, she looked like a cross-cut saw 
as she told of it. Then, she also declared that what was 
needed, were people that could go down into the slums and 
Christianize the heathen down there, and turn their souls 
to God. She also talked about Jesus weeping, and His 
dust-stained feet. But her eyes were hard and dry and 
looked as if she had never wept. Then she turned to 
Mary and said: 

‘‘But what is needed, is to be reinforced by a true Chris- 
tian spirit and the love of God in your heart. Meta- 
physics won’t do it. Nothing but true religion, as pro- 
claimed by Jesus Christ, will do it. And true religion, 
my friend, is never a dance-loving, glass-clinking, joking, 
rollicking spirit. It condones no vanities nor petty pomps. 
With the follies of the hour, it has no sympathy. I feel 


502 Mary Starkweather. 

that I am speaking very plainly, but I feel I would not 
be doing my duty, nor His work, if, when I have the op- 
portunity of reaching those that need a word in season, 
I refuse to utter it. Let none think that He,” she ex- 
claimed, pointing tragically toward the chandelier, ^Vill 
tolerate pride, love of dress, avarice, and desire, such as 
are found in the drawing-rooms of our millionaires. Hor 
can any one hope to deceive by a few casual remarks on 
religion. How can any one pray among such scenes? 
They cannot. I trust the words I have spoken may reach 
some hearts and cause them to realize there is practical 
work to be done.” 

Miss Patton sat down with a supreme air of satisfaction 
and a look of one who had relieved her mind, and had 
done her duty in spite of consequences. Neither she nor 
Mrs. Dolores had referred to the object of the meeting, or 
had shown the slightest interest in the community move- 
ment. 

It seemed for a very short time, as if a bucket of cold 
water had been thrown upon the little gathering. But 
Mary was equal to the occasion. She arose and made a 
few bright remarks, and several of the gentlemen made 
suggestions, and some inquir%ed into the workings of the 
communities, and very soon the little ripple had passed 
away and the business was concluded. 

Miss Patton, Mrs. Dolores, Mrs. Winston and Horace 
Burt, with several others, hurried away, and those re- 
maining, broke up into little groups, discussing various 
features of the affair. 

Mary had been called from the room to reply to a tele- 
gram. 

In some of the groups, such exclamations might be 
heard as: 

^^Well! if those are sample philanthropists, I throw up 


The Meeting of Philanthropists. 503 

the whole thing/^ said one young fellow who had bought 
a good-sized block of stock in the new community. 

^^One would have thought we were a lot of hardened 
sinners and heathens. Their talk lets me out. If I met 
those women again, I would have lockjaw/^ said another 
investor. 

“How absurd, how narrow, how full of prejudice their 
remarks were. No recognition of Mrs. Thorton’s honest 
efforts,” said Norwood Brinsley. “Their very virtues are 
tiresome. The idea of asking Mrs. Thornton if she ever 
scrubbed a floor !” 

“No,” said Bennie; “and Mrs. Thornton has too much 
conscience to practice on other people’s floors. It wouldn’t 
be fair. She would have given a dollar to some of those 
poor women, who were looking on, who understood the 
business and needed the money, and let them do it.” 

“Well, according to Mrs. Dolores’s confession, her 
pleasure is nothing else but highly agreeable pain,” said 
Dick. “If I were a pauper, I think I would And more 
hope in Mrs. Thornton’s smiles than in Mrs. Dolores’s 
tears.” 

“She is evidently happiest when she sighs,” said another 
gentleman, referring to Mrs. Dolores. 

“Her bonnet was on crooked,” said Bennie. 

“So was her nose,” said Donald. 

Mrs. Barry was watching Donald, and much to her re- 
gret, had seen the old antipathy to things orthodox sweep- 
ing over his face, and she was not surprised to hear him 
grind out, between his teeth, as he turned to Brinsley and 
Dick : 

“Their remarks are what I call a part of the infernal 
unfitness of things.” 

“In plain Saxon, it is what I call damned injustice,” 
said Norwood Brinsley, sotto voce, to Dick. 


504 Mary Starkweather. 

^^Well, whatever you do, don’t get cussy,” said Dick in 
a voice that sounded as if there were many adjectives back 
of what he was saying, that if turned loose, would have 
made the atmosphere beautifully, brilliantly blue. 

At this moment, Mary re-entered the room. 

"My dear Mrs. Thornton, how much you have done!” 
exclaimed one of the ladies. 

"Yes, and how much you deny yourself !” came in a 
chorus of voices from Mary’s enthusiastic girl-friends and 
admirers ; "and how you 

They got no further in their expressions of esteem, for 
Mary, raising her hands in protestation, exclaimed, with a 
little more than her usual vehemence: 

"Stop, stop! don’t speak another word like that. Don’t 
talk of my denying myself. I am not. I am doing what 
gives me genuine pleasure. Let us understand one an- 
other, once and for all.” 

In a moment, she had riveted the attention of every 
one. 

"I am fond of society ; but to make it a pursuit and live 
in it, in a whirl of gayety, would kill me. I like it as a 
recreation only. Why should I not? There, I meet 
those I love and have always known. But they are not 
everything to me. The happiest moments of my life are 
not while in society; but when I can look into the eyes 
of some man or woman or child and feel that I have been 
instrumental, at least, in making the burden of life easier 
to them. 

"You all seem to have taken exception to the remarks 
made here, this afternoon. I do not mind them in the 
least, although I differ greatly from those ladies in my 
opinions. We will not discuss them nor their methods. 
It is simply a difference of opinion. But for the sake of 
those that have met with us, for the first time, we will 


The Meeting of Philanthropists. 505 

define our own position and ideas on these subjects. And 
in speaking of anything that has been said here, I merely 
wish to make clear my own views in regard to them, and 
I am not speaking in a spirit of criticism. 

^Tirst, as to dress and society, I think it only right, if 
possible, to be properly groomed. Let us take Nature, not 
man, for our guide. The flowers and plants are given 
times to grow and perfect themselves. We should not 
vaste our time, but we should take time to perfect our- 
selves. God so designed it that the more culture the 
flower gets, the more it is improved. The lily-stalk and 
rose-tree are beautiful, but not so much so as when 
adorned by the blossoms. The naked tree is beautiful 
with its artistic branches and massive trunk. But they 
are not content, but hide their nakedness with beautiful 
green leaves, each a marvel in perfection of pattern and 
design. But still they are not content with this beautiful 
dress, and take on little green pods and balls for adorn- 
ment; thus, little by little adding to their beauty. This 
is their time of gladness. Even on what we call the cold, 
barren rock, you will find, if you examine it, that Nature, 
with rain and wind, has covered it with exquisite tracings, 
thus adorning them. 

^^So, I think, by simply taking Nature as a guide, we 
are justified in looking after our persons and in dressing 
tastefully. 

^‘Now, as to the work I am trying to do. I am aware 
not every woman can do what I am doing. A few years 
ago, no matter how much I might have wished it, I could 
not have done it. I did not have the means to do as ex- 
tensive work as I am able to do now. Some ladies have 
not so many servants as I have, therefore, they have not 
so much time. With others, their husbands do not wish 
them to enter this kind of work. And then, an ever- 


5o 6 Mary Starkweather. 

increasing family prevents others. And I believe one’s 
first duty is to one’s own family. I do not think it charity 
to neglect one’s own family to attend to the family of 
some one else. Now_, with me, it is different; and I would 
be a selfish ingrate if under the circumstances in which I 
am placed I did not do all I possibly could for others; 
and I do not deserve any credit for simply doing my duty. 
First, and above all else, I have the approval, consent and 
co-operation of both my father and husband. We are not 
Eothschilds ; yet we have something to spare if we manage 
judiciously. And last, but not least, I have the time to 
devote to it. Now think of it! See this immense house 
and the size and extent of Mabelthorp and Bethesda for 
just a family of four. Instead of dismissing servants, 
I employ just as many as I possibly can that they may 
make an honest living and enjoy these beautiful homes 
with us. 

believe in the power of the mind as Jesus taught it. 
I., doesn’t matter whether Christ was divine in the sense 
that the orthodox church teaches, or whether He was a 
man just as we are. I believe He, in some way, discovered 
the true way to life and health and happiness, and that 
He left it to us, and we have only to study it truly and 
sincerely, in order to profit by it. To what extent this 
science will reach, I am unable to say. It would be im- 
possible to set a limit ; but I believe as large a percentage 
can now be healed by this method as by drugs. And, 
believing this, I personally purchased Bethesda that I 
might have the great pleasure and happiness of having 
some place of my own, where I could send afflicted persons 
to be healed. I shall keep it open the year round. I 
keep there, in co-operation with me, a corps of persons, 
skilled in this science, to look after and teach all that are 
sent there. And right here I want to say that during the 


The Meeting of Philanthropists. 507 

summer, several thousand dollars were sent to me from 
unknown sources, for the use of the cottagers.'' 

As Mary said this she looked straight at Norwood 
Brinsley and he blushed like a guilty school-boy. 

^^It was unsolicited, and came very unexpectedly; but 
it was acceptable and has blessed and made happy a num- 
ber of young, refined lives, and has insured not temporary, 
but permanent relief from poverty to deserving young 
students. I wish the person that sent that money could 
know how much good it has done and is now doing, and 
what fervent prayers were sent out to the donor. Now, 
the reason I have spoken of this is that some one mentioned 
here, this afternoon, something about our community 
movement as if connected with the new thought movement. 
Let me now disabuse your mind of this entirely. The 
community movement is a purely humane movement. Ee- 
ligion enters into it only in so far as each one's individual 
opinion is concerned. 

^Tn my efforts in this direction, I am not doing it to 
insure my salvation, or through any fear of any kind; 
nor am I seeking any reward here or hereafter. If I 
were a rank atheist I should do the same. It is prompted 
by love, pure and simple, and a real desire to help the 
unfortunate. As to going down into the slums to Chris- 
tianize those living there, let those that have the power, 
find employment for the poor and see that they are decently 
housed; and the poor will take care of themselves. It is 
opportunity that most of these people need. You can 
carry to them all the religion you like and it is a physical 
impossibility for them to be happy while they are suffer- 
ing the pangs of hunger and cold. 

^There have been times that I have reproached myself 
for the pleasure I took in my work, and the thought came 
to me that it ought to be a sacrifice in the old^ orthodox 


5o 8 Mary Starkweather. 

way of thinking. I had always heard so much about the 
sacrifice of Jesus. I thought a great deal about it, and 
now I don^t think Jesus made any sacrifice^ I don’t be- 
lieve that when He was teaching the people or trying to 
uplift humanity, that He had any desire to do or be any- 
thing other than what He was. He was fulfilling His 
mission; as He said, doing His Father’s work. He was 
the greatest humanitarian that ever lived. He could not 
have done other than He did do. He was eventually 
sacrificed, but I do not believe He made any sacrifice. 
As to going down into the slums and living as Jesus did 
and there walking in His steps, do you know, Jesus did 
not live that way; that you would not find His footsteps 
there if you went. His dust-stained feet — He got them' 
under the blue dome of heaven in His Father’s free air. 
He breathed the sweet air of Galilee. He bathed His 
feet in the sweet water of the Jordan. How much easier 
it is to worship God and fast in a wilderness with the 
mighty dome of heaven above, and room to breathe the 
night airs and feel the cooling dews descend upon one 
than to fast for forty days and forty nights hemmed in 
by brick walls, fetid with the breath of people in a foul 
atmosphere, loaded with curses. A manger in a stable 
would be heaven beside these human hives. Could Jesus 
have dwelt there? His last supper was taken under the 
cool shade of the trees. He was even crucified where He 
had room and could look up to the blue sky and there 
read His Father’s message. And the angels of heaven 
could come to Him without soiling their wings. He never 
knew permanent hunger, except what He imposed upon 
Himself. But think of the people in the slums, who have 
never known anything else; who never get out to breathe 
the sweet air. Think of the women, the mothers, who are 
crucified daily, whose agony does not end in seven hours 


The Meeting of Philanthropists. 509 

nor in seven years. I have known people to go alone and 
concentrate their minds in prayer, dwelling on the cruci- 
fixion, living it all over again in imagination until they 
were ill. In my opinion, Jesus would have been better 
pleased in the expending those prayers in an energy and 
leading the multitude out, down by the sea as He did. 
There He fed them and there He taught them. These 
are my opinions. I don’t claim infallibility. I give them 
to you for what they are worth.” 

What a commotion her words caused! — especially the 
closing remarks on the life and teaching of Jesus. The 
heavenly light came into her eyes and a glow in her cheeks. 
Her voice thrilled every one with its tenderness. There 
was nothing in her remarks to cause tears. Yet there 
were tears in many eyes, when she had finished. This 
rational, humane, beautiful, loving woman was so lifted 
up that she drew all to her. 

It turned out to be like an old-fashioned, Methodist 
love-feast. No one, who heard her, was satisfied until 
they had clasped her hand. How the stock of the new 
company sold! Every single share was taken. 

The next morning, what was the amazement of the 
^^Trinity,” on looking over their sheaves of daily papers, 
to find that the meeting of the day previous, had been 
reported in most of them, and with many exaggerations 
and positive untruths. One report was boldly illustrated. 
Only one article was signed ; but in that and in one of the 
others, as in the short notices, the "Trinity” read the 
finger-marks and influence of Horace Burt. 

It is well to read these reports that the reader may 
learn how differently people look on the same thing. 


Mary Starkweather. 


510 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. ‘ 

NEWSPAPER CRITICISM. 

REPORT OF HORACE BURT. 

‘‘Yesterday, with a few other alien souls, I was allowed 
to enter the inner circle, the Holy of holies, as it were, of 
the latest society fad — metaphysical charity and philan- 
thropy. There are more things in heaven and earth, 
Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy. The 
truth of these lines was verified yesterday by unique 
specimens of philanthropy. Mrs. Charles Thornton, who 
is the wife of one of our Congressmen, and who is one 
of the most distinguished leaders in the younger set of 
the Pour- Hundred, seeemed to be the high priestess and 
leader of the movement. She is said to be, and justly 
too, one of the handsomest, if not the handsomest woman 
in America. She seems to possess a peculiar power over 
her disciples, which comprise both sexes. She is possessed 
of a bewildering lot of morbid, metaphysical fancies. 
She made an address and talked about love and the beauties 
of it, maintaining that the whole of metaphysics is con- 
tained in that one word, Love 

“She talked about the inner being, vibration, mind-force, 
soul-harmony, silence, and the power of thought. It was 
all very beautiful, to hear the musical voice and to look at 


Newspaper Criticism. 51 1 

the woman; but passing moments brought reflection. I 
felt I was not there to witness an exhibition of beauty, 
but to obtain facts. I put aside the delicious languor of 
the atmosphere, and the exquisite beauty of the woman, 
and determined to look upon this wise and imposing (?) 
body critically; and to learn, if possible, what they were 
really trying to do. And I discovered they were discuss- 
ing subjects with which they were acquainted and subjects 
with which they were unacquainted. The latter being 
by far the most numerous, of course mostly occupied them. 

^^Their ideas of philanthropy are very extensive, of 
course, and in the abstract are wonderful ; but in the con- 
crete are chimerical. Their metaphysical philosophy is on 
a par with their philanthropy. Everybody knows that philo- 
sophical accuracy is indispensable. A name or a few vague 
expressions do not tell what a thing is. Now, with this 
leading idea in our minds, namely : philosophical accuracy, 
we determined to get at the root of the thing, and hoped, 
by easy gradation, we would arrive at the solution of the 
problem. Copious arguments were brought to bear, pro 
and con, and we listened with marked attention ; but alas, 
alas ! with ill success. We were more bewildered at the 
end than at the beginning. I glanced around at Mrs. 
Thornton^ s disciples. To look at their faces one would 
think that they had some telegraphic communication direct 
with the heavenly land, they appeared so satisfied as they 
listened to this jargon, which gives a pleasant sensation 

to the ear It’s the easiest thing in life to 

bamboozle people, providing you look wise and use as 
weapons of instrumentation a lot of high sounding words 
and vague metaphysical terms. These form a wonderful 
vehicle for ambiguous expressions. Tangibilities become 
useless, comparisons of no avail. And so, this woman 
talked and pretended to analyze and poured forth a con- 


512 Mary Starkweather. 

tinuous chain of tender and impassioned sentiment about 
beauty, charity, a great over-flowing of soul and exuber- 
ance of love. They assume to think and feel and deal 
with action and emotion; but form and substance are 
beyond them. They may be metaphysicians, but they are 
not philosophers 

^^We were sorry to see there those whom we consider our 
shining lights, running after these strange gods and taking 
part in this folly. There were those present who are 
undoubtedly ladies and gentlemen in the world of fashion, 
and who have money and to spare, frittering away their 
time in a drawing-room, sitting on easy chairs in a per- 
fumed atmosphere, discussing maps, plans, etc., with pretty 
little wrinkles in their brows, brought there no doubt, by 
their ponderous thinking on the mighty (?) subject; 
meantime in the slums they are suffering the pangs of 
hunger while these charming creatures loll in easy chairs 
and sip tea from bits of translucent china. 

^^ . . . They think it a weakness to exhibit a little 

human passion, and there was a lack of that deep and fer- 
vent interest in humanity so absolutely necessary in work 
of this kind. There was little real feeling for the naked 
and distressed in these demonstrations. I suppose they feel 
abundantly repaid; but from my soul I pity them. As 
a descendant of the Puritans and the best forms of ortho- 
doxy, I write this in the nature of a protest against the 
imposition of obtaining money in this way. The whole 
thing was absurd. In connection with their philanthropy, 
they talked of roses and vines and culture, when it is 
tread the poor need; tread and something to sustain life. 
What do those in the slums care for vines and flowers? 
Flowers are not life to them. 

^Tn this atmosphere there was nothing to move the 
heart to penitence and prayer, nothing to bring to the 


Newspaper Criticism. 513 

mind the groans and sighs of the Great Master. One 
good true Christian woman^ president of one of the most 
beneficial aid societies in the city, was present. This 
woman told them a few good wholesome truths and showed 
them the practical side of true charity. She is also a 
millionaire; but there was a great contrast between this 
earnest worker and the birds of Paradise that surrounded 
her 

^^Just as the meeting broke up, we overheard one of 
the men, who seemed to be prime minister, speaking of the 
poor in the slums, and calling them ^poor devils.^ We 
could not help but contrast this with what the charming 
lady had said about love and we thought how different the 
Great Master would have spoken. 

^^This same gentleman, after talking about aiding the 
poor, had stated the fact that these homes must be bought 
and paid for. Then he talked about the rates of interest, 
showing the whole thing to be a money-making scheme; 
and that they want to read their title clear to a large per- 
centage. 

“We know the thing cannot and will not last. We 
already have had a superabundance of gilt-edged couleur 
de rose thought-effusion. We prefer the full allowance 
of cut-and-thrust, blue, hell-fire, bue-blazing melodra- 
maticisms of the old fashion Methodist, or the Salvation 
Army, with their drums and tambourines and cymbals. 
The twaddle called ^higher thought,^ ^silent thought,^ ^soul 
communion,^ we have had more than enough, a nauseat- 
ing surfeit. Of all this, eheu jam salis!** 

AN EXTRACT FROM MRS. WINSTON’S REPORT. 

From what we could learn of the phi- 
lanthropic project, it seemed to be stupendous in its power 
to relieve the congestion of our overcrowded districts and 


514 Mary Starkweather. 

to be able to confer a lasting benefit on those that will be 
allowed to avail themselves of its benefit. It is my advice 
and earnest hope that all those interested in this line of 
work, will look carefully and painstakingly into the work- 
ing of this new project, as I feel confident the question 
of how to permanently help the unfortunately poor has 
been solved. It certainly receives our warmest commenda- 
tion. 

‘^We have not studied along these occult lines, but there 
were many interesting things mentioned that found an 
echo in our heart from a similarity of incidence we have 
taken no account of before, which, on reflection, seem re- 
markable. Upon the whole, we would not be surprised ^ 
if they became indisputable facts. They seem so now — 
put forth with such genius and painstaking purpose. It 
will certainly be a pleasure to honor these delightful argu- 
ments, and not to let them pass as undigested and cursory 
remarks. We will now be eager for more proof, more ex- 
planation, and we postpone all further comment until a 
more mature thought 

^^Upon the whole, we look upon Mrs. Thornton as one 
of the grandest women of our nation; and she is still so 
young, so original, so earnest, with so. much pure, deep 
feeling.^ She has a freshness of spirit that constantly 
delights and surprises. With such attributes what a 
delight to honor her 

EXTRACT FROM MISS PATTOX’S LETTER. 

The subject was mentality, and was 

embellished with numerous vague terms which greatly en- 
hanced the interest of the talk. The subject was handled 
with great tact and ability, and interspersed with interro- X 
gations from the disciples of this cult. ; 


Newspaper Criticism. 515 

^^The wonders and architecture of the address tran- 
scended imagination. How this fair lady obtained all this 
wonderful knowledge, we are unable to say. It may seem 
severe, but the whole thing was a lot of demi-intellectual 
twaddle. 

^Ht’s very nice and less distressing to discuss philan- 
thropic plans in an elegantly furnished drawing-room than 
to go out in frost and snow and distribute clothing and 
food. Could we transpose these exotics to the slums, 
would their identity be' lost? We think not. There 
would be a call for cologne and violet, and my lady would 
lift her silken skirts for fear of contamination. Would 
they go down into the slums and convert those sodden sin- 
ners ? — or try to save their souls ? In these refined homes 
what do they know about those that suffer the severest 
privations that poverty can inflict? Could they take 
deeply to heart the awful want, the heart-rending despair, 
that melts the truly sympathetic soul? They must first 
learn lessons of humility and self-sacrifice. 

^‘^The truly good, those that have dedicated their lives 
to this work, and who are not following a fad, require no 
sentimental talk and outward show to influence and rouse 
their imaginations, or to, cause their tears to flow in sym- 
pathy. Their own souls are always gushing forth in divine 
love for the wretched. They do for the poor. They donT 
sit down and tliinh about them and leave them alone in 
their desolate homes. Will they go where the sound of 
woe comes forth from the fallen? No, they will laugh 
and think and love and leave them to their sufferings. 

^^But this is not all. It is a crying sin that all these 
erroneous ideas should be inculcated in the minds of these 
young people. They should get their knowledge of re- 
ligion from one well-grounded in the Bible^ and not a few 
cursory remarks, gilded with brilliant rhetoric, from a 


5i 6 Mary Starkweather. 

beautiful society woman, dressed in frills and furbelows. 

^^If they could only realize they are dipping in deep 
waters and drifting toward a dangerous reef! Thought 
will not save them. The time will come when the rich, 
these mighty people in their splendid homes, will crouch — 
crouch like worms and acknowledge their own insignifi- 
cance. Their ideas of philanthropy are too supremely 
ridiculous for serious consideration. The effect of such 
effort and blundering is to dampen the ardor of people 
who are honestly trying to aid the unfortunate. Their 
schemes look well on paper, but would be of no practical 
value. It is absurd to think that there is any real life in 
the movement. It will die with the season like a fading 
flower. We have been greatly disappointed. We had 
hoped to be spiritually and mentally uplifted by some real 
good done. 

^Birdie Patton.^” 

CHARLES DIXON’S REPORT. 

^^Out of the storm and stress of life, out and away from 
faults and follies, how grateful it was to come into this 
home, to find an atmosphere redolent with perfume, and 
to meet such a woman as Mrs. Thornton, whose very hand- 
clasp is an inspiration. Here, we found the most charm- 
ing assemblage of ladies and gentlemen. The very at- 
mosphere and everything in the room seemed to stimulate 
one to his very best. There was no restraint. It was 
more like a social visit, and yet, one did not feel inclined 
to speak hastily. One felt like giving every syllable his 
beet thought. 

‘^Mrs. Thornton made a brief address in which she out- 
lined the philanthropic work in which she was interested. 
What struck us most was the splendid harmony of the 
woman. She is, in herself, a symphony. There were no 


Newspaper Criticism. 517 

dry-as-dust details, but everything strong, straight and 
practical. She has a way of telling so plainly and lucidly 
everything one wants to know. 

'^At the request of many, she gave a brief review of her 
metaphysical studies. This metaphysical theme is purity 
itself. Every idea was put forth in a thoughtful manner, 
and advanced by such a woman as Mrs. Thornton, it was 
singularly effective. The study of metaphysics, as we 
understand it, is founded on the teachings of Christ, who 
was the greatest of all metaphysicians. Yet, metaphysics 
and orthodoxy are as wide asunder as the poles. There 
were no ^holier than thou’ ideas advanced, no heart-rend- 
ing appeal. The gaunt skeleton of Fear was conspicu- 
ously absent. There was no apparent striving after effect 
or perfection — everything broad and liberal, no selfishness 
of a cramped soul. I became inspired and felt all the time 
there was some precious goal about to be reached. I can- 
didly confess the whole thing was a revelation, and I have 
never been so surprised. 

^^Prejudices are devilish; and I am ashamed to ac- 
knowledge it, but r went there prejudiced. I had said to 
myself: ^Can anything good come out of Sodom?’ But 
very soon I was willing to suspend judgment, at least, and 
await developments. 

‘T have seen philanthropists who made me nervous with 
their tireless activity. But how different here! How 
quietly and harmoniously all was done and how much ac- 
complished! Plans were laid out, maps were shown, 
money was freely offered, but not one cent asked for. 
There was an entertainment conceived, planned, and date 
set for it, in less than twenty minutes. I never saw so 
much effective work done in the same space of time. 

^^Hothing was done or talked about except from a 
humane standpoint — ^just what one, true, kind heart would 


5i 8 Mary Starkweather. 

wish to extend to another; no air of conciliating some 
deity or of the hope of buying off judgment on some secret 
sin. There seemed to be but one deity present, and that 
was the God of Love, not the little, slick, lying, wicked 
Cupid, but the great human and divine love that must 
permeate all good. 

^‘^From what we can learn^ this philanthropic work is 
no dream; but a marvelous reality that has been thought- 
fully tested. Next week we are to visit the community 
now in operation, and we are all impatience for the time 
to come. 

^^All honor to these people who from their homes of 
plenty in the great world of fashion, find time to think of 
those less fortunate than themselves. 

^^We will follow this movement with interest, and we 
feel sure that through it, thousands of lives will be made 
brighter and happier.^^ 

To say that Donald, Dick, and Bennie were mad, after 
reading these reports, would be drawing it mild. Donald 
said but little, but gnawed his moustache fiercely. Dick 
looked unutterable things. When Bennie came in he 
fairly stamped with rage. This was the first absolutely 
disagreeable thing they had met since they had gone into 
this new work. When Dick had made known his project 
to a few personal friends, he had been able to interest them 
without much difficulty, and they had invested liberally. 
It is true that all three were beginning to be chaffed a good 
deal at the club ; but they did not mind it in the least and 
looked upon it as a joke. Nor did they care, now, so far 
as they were personally concerned. It was the dragging 
into publicity the names of Mrs. Thornton and her asso- 
ciates in this movement that incensed them. 

^Talk about atmosphere,” said Dick. never appre- 


Newspaper Criticism. 519 

ciated it until yesterday. Those people hardly entered the 
room before I felt it^ and I have felt it ever since. Once, 
I would not have understood it. Sometimes I have won- 
dered why Mrs. Thornton kept silent in regard to her 
projects for five years. But after yesterday’s experience, 
and this morning’s, I don’t wonder at it any more.” 

They had already arranged to meet the three girls, that 
morning, at Mrs. Thornton’s. 

When they arrived, they saw at once that the ladies had 
read the articles; but Mary was inclined to make light of 
them. 

Not so, Dick. He was furious. He felt that it was a 
burning disgrace and a slur on Mrs. Thornton, and did 
not hesitate to accuse Horace Burt. 

Mary tried to put a happy light upon the matter and 
quoted from the Persian sage: 

“ ^The secret of wisdom dwells with silence.’ This old 
philosopher knew so much! He did not mean by being 
still, nonchalance of life, nor a lotus-eating existence. But 
he knew that arguments were disturbing. If this is so, 
he still, and let the world pass by like idle sounds. Be 
still and know that all Horace Burt can write, can be over- 
balanced by your mind.” 

^^That may be true,” replied Dick ; ^‘but at this moment, 
I would rather use my fist or a horsewhip.” 

‘^The world judges a tree by its fruit,” said Mary. 

^^Well, his fruit is not ripe, yet,” replied Dick, as he 
walked across the room with his hands buried in his pockets 
that Mary should not see how tightly they were clenched. 
He walked to the window and stood looking out, for a 
moment, while he held a little soliloquy about damns of 
several kinds. It is only those that are just beginning 
to make efforts to obtain ideas that can appreciate Dick’s 
feeling. He wanted to strike out from the shoulder. 


520 


Mary Starkweather. 

^^Come, come! we will be able to hold our own/^ said 
Mary cheerfully. ^^Just look at it the right way, and it 
will all grow bright.” 

^^That makes me think of those verses of Swinburne you 
repeated for us, the other day, Mrs. Thornton,” said Edith. 
“I thought them so beautiful I looked them up and learned 
them, and they were a genuine comfort to me yesterday.” 

Edith was standing some distance from the rest of the 
group, leaning against the mantel. When Dick heard her 
speaking, he had come to the other side of the mantel, and 
stood facing her. 

^‘^What were they?” said Donald. feel, just at this 
moment, as if we needed something for our overcharged 
feelings. I have just enough Southern blood in me to 
cause my fingers to itch for a shot-gun this morning.” 

Mary smiled encouragingly as she said to Edith: ^Tf 
you have any oil to pour, now is your time to do it.” 

^^Come,let us have the verses,” said Bennie. ^^All of you.” 

^^All right,” said Edith, ‘^and I advise you all to learn 
them. I shall feel I am doing a real missionary work if 
you do.” 

^^Consider us all pledged!” exclaimed Donald. 

There were two stanzas of six lines each. Mary had 
only repeated ten lines, leaving off the last two, and Edith 
followed her example. 

Swinburne was somewhat of a favorite with Dick, and 
he listened with interest while Edith repeated the lines 
with glowing cheeks and hashing eyes: 

grim thing written or graven, 

But grows, if you gaze on it^ bright. 

A lar¥s note rings from a raven. 

And Tragedy's robe turns white; 

And shipwrecks drift into haven; 

And darkness laughs and is light. 


Newspaper Criticism. 521 

** "Grief seems hut a vision of madness, 

Life*s keynote peals from above. 

With naught in it more of sadness 
Than broods on the heart of a dove/ " 

^^How beautiful !” they all exclaimed. But Dick 
leaned toward Edith, and said : 

‘^That is fine, and witchingly recited. I did not know 
you were possessed of such elocutionary power; but why 
did you not finish it ? Shall I do it for you ?” And with- 
out waiting for her to reply, he repeated: 

"""At sight of you, thought grows gladness. 

And life through love of you, love/ '' 

She glanced at him. His voice thrilled her, she knew 
not why. And as Dick looked into her eyes, for the first 
instant, he realized that he loved her. The others were 
talking and had taken no notice of what had transpired 
between these two. 


522 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
dick: shows his mettle. 

That evening, Dick had an engagement at the clnb, to 
talk the matter of the community plan over with some"" 
parties that he hoped to interest. He had, in a great 
measure, regained his wonted humor. The three of them 
had concluded to swallow their wrath, on account of the 
ladies, as it would not be pleasant to have them mixed up 
in anything of the kind. 

Donald and Bennie, with their friends, were already at 
the club, when Dick arrived. They gathered round a table 
where Dick joined them. The room was brilliantly 
lighted. There happened to he a full attendance that 
night, very many of the older members being present. 
On every side were the scions of the wealthy millionaires, 
many of whom showed their patrician blood, aU lounging 
about, chatting. 

Xear where our three friends sat, was a group, among 
whom was Horace Burt; and the three at the table were 
evidently the subject of conversation, together with their 
philanthropic movement; as such fragments of the con- 
versation were wafted to them, as follows: 

^^Ah! she’s devilish pretty — ^by Allah!” evidently re- 
ferring to Mary. 


Dick Shows His Mettle. 


523 

^^Yes, ah, yes! She’s fit for something better than 
metaphysics — by Jupiter !” 

They had both been reading Quo Vadis. 

yacht with prayer-meetings on it!” This brought 
a roar. 

^^Dick has ^got religion/ ” came with a sneer from some 
one else. 

‘^^Kid-glove religion and philanthropy are beautiful.” 

Dick was not sensitive; he had been a leader too long, 
and his will had been law. When he wanted to do a thing, 
he did it, and paid no attention to what was done or said 
about it. He knew how the fellows were always chaffing 
one another ; and in that group were some that he thought 
well of. 

^Ht’s a lot of scandalous enthusiasm. It doesn’t catch 
me.” 

‘Tt’s an attack of Mary-mania meta-phobia,” said some 
one. 

^^Yes; Dick has shown his anatomy is not so deficient 
in heart as we supposed,” said Horace Burt. ^Tn plain 
English, it’s a case that Judge Thornton should look into. 
Dick has Mary-mania, sure enough.” 

Dick sprang to his feet at the insinuation. He had a 
strong face, and, for an instant, his jaws were shut like 
steel. He stood for a couple of breathless seconds before 
speaking. Then a torrent of words poured forth. 

'H have not thought, until this moment, that the hot-shot 
fired into me, heretofore, meant anything more than a 
joke — a lot of chaff; but taking into consideration the 
unwarrantable attack in this morning’s papers, — instigated 
by a member of this club — on the movement we are trying 
to promote, together with the remarks I have heard during 
the last five minutes, convince me that they are intended 
as something more than a joke. It is not the first time 


524 Mary Starkweather. 

that a snake entered an Eden, nor the first time that a 
Judas sat with the disciples to betray them. Is any man 
here my keeper? No grinning vertebrate, no handful of 
nerveless protoplasm can scare me with his pen or brazen 
assumption. I am in' the habit of doing as I please, 
and I expect to continue in that line of conduct. There 
is no social autocrat in New York nor enough sneers in 
the world, to change my purpose, or make me swerve one 
inch from what I have undertaken. I bow my head in 
authority to no one. I intend to do what I believe to be 
right and will not subordinate my views to anybody.” 

There was an instant^ s surprise, and then a storm of 
applause. His voice was like thunder as he went on : 

protest in the name of good works; I protest in the 
name of common decency; I protest in the name of the 
purest and best of womanhood against such remarks as 
have been heard here to-night. And I appeal to every 
honest man in this club to back me in it.” 

The token of approbation with which his sentiments 
were received, was attested to by another storm of applause. 

^^Some one, a few moments ago, sneeringly said I had 
^got religion.^ Suppose I have? We are supposed to live 
in a Christian country. Is it a disgrace to ^get religion^ ? 
Now, I boldly say I am a changed man. I didn’t become 
changed through any prayers, psalm-singing, or through 
going to church ; but by a simple demonstration of Truth 
and by seeing the error of my ways; for I was going 
wrong. I am positive in the common acceptance of the 
word, I have not %ot religion.’ But I want to say right 
here — ^by the eternal! — if it is religion, I’m glad I’ve got 
it ; and my regret is that I did not have it sooner ; and I 
need to be an enthusiast in order to make up for lost 
time.” 

All the latent energy of the man had burst forth. He 


Dick Shows His Mettle. 


525 


electrified every one. His eyes blazed until they fairly shot 
fire. He was pale as death. His words came in a tor- 
rent. Bravos rang out repeatedly at Dick^s spirited utter- 
ances. 

^^As for the work we have in hand, I am willing to stand 
sponsor to the movement. No one need fear they will be 
called upon to father it. I am proud of it, and decided it 
for myself.^^ (Laughter and applause.) ^^And the pro- 
ject has come to stay. It cannot be frozen out — ^nor kicked 
out. It is growing fast and will continue to grow in spite 
of foes without and foes within. So far, it does not bear 
the unhappy resemblance to a failure. I do not intend 
to criticise other people’s methods ; but I wish to speak of 
what these ladies are doing. They are not rending the 
air with shouts and prayers, nor building churches to be 
used once a week; but they are building towns and giving 
the unfortunate people an opportunity to help themselves. 
And I want to put myself on record, right now, as favoring 
and co-operating to the extent of my ability with them. 
As to the slur in regard to Mrs. Thornton, I have that same 
love and reverence for her that I suppose a good Catholic 
has for his own saint by the name of Mary. It was Mrs. 
Thornton that awakened me out of my idleness and sloth 
when I was weary and almost tired of life. It is she, that 
to me has made life worth living. I revere her as all that 
is good in pure womanhood.” 

Bennie, Donald, Brinsley and many others sprang to 
their feet, followed by almost every member of the club, 
and the place shook with applause. 

God ! If you could have seen this man. It was a reve- 
lation. The idea of any one ever having called him dis- 
passionate, unemotional, cold ! He was an avalanche. 
His nostrils dilated, his nerves were thrilling. He was 
quivering with honest indignation. Dick, himself, did 


526 Mary Starkweather. 

not know how much character he possessed. This was 
the first real opposition or criticism he had ever been 
subjected to. 

After all, it was a glorious experience; for it resulted 
in attracting to him others as fearless as himself. All his 
latent capacity and his true metal were seen for the first 
time. His victory was complete. The club was in a 
tumult. Horace Burt tried to speak, but he was drowned 
by a storm of hisses. Dick saw his victory and was satis- 
fied. 

Dick had shown and somewhat explained the project to 
Colonel Storr, one of the millionaires of New York. He 
happened to be at the club this eventful evening. He was 
considered a man of remarkably clear judgment and of 
great power. All eyes were turned toward him, as he now 
rose and said: 

^^Mr. Braintree’s indignation is just, and I am glad he 
has the courage to stand for his principles. I have looked 
over these plans with him, and it is plain to see they are 
not the result of accident, but a careful working out of a 
method, with much thought and care. No man has a 
right to say, merely from a glance over the field, that the 
project is not a good one. I understand that it has been 
tried on a small scale for some years ; and that it has proved 
successful and highly practical. Having been fully tested, 
the results are shown, and surely, they are very gratifying. 
I feel there is quite a powerful generalship back of the 
movement, which deserves encouragement; therefore, it 
would not be wise to toss it to one side uninvestigated. 
I should like to see this large, opulent club made a rally- 
ing-ground, and enough members come forward and join 
hands to make defeat impossible. 

“This is a year of great prosperity. An appeal among 
the rank and file of the wealthier people I am sure would 


Dick Shows His Mettle. 


527 


find quick response, if it could be shown that their money 
would do some permanent good, and that it would not be 
like pouring water into a sieve ; that they could help people, 
by some rational means, to sustain themselves. Many 
people are sincerely earnest in their desire to aid. Yearly 
evidences multiply, showing that our charity is only to be 
repeated to the same people, year after year: that ap- 
parently all the thousands given, do no permanent good. 
To anything that will consistently solve this problem, I 
will give my cordial support. 

^^As to Mrs. Thornton, I think she is on the right path 
in this higher effort she is making. She seems to be a 
sort of J ohn the Baptist crying in the wilderness of society. 
I understand a good many have joined her ranks. Most 
of us know her. She is a woman beyond reproach — a 
woman whose very person seems to exhale chastity.” 

Mr. Naigie, a well-known man and one of the most 
popular of the elder members of the club, spoke next. 
His face was seamed with thought-lines; but there was a 
merry twinkle in his brown eyes, as he said: 

^^The argument that this movement can be like an end- 
less chain, going on and building up, is a strong induce- 
ment for co-operation. As our friend. Colonel Storr, has 
said, temporary charity is so discouraging; and I am sure 
the number that would bestir themselves in a concrete 
movement for the relief of the suffering, would ' astonish 
any true philanthropist if it can be demonstrated a per- 
manent thing. 

heard a sneer about kid gloves, a little while ago. I 
believe there were kid gloves in this club that were found 
at their post of duty in our recent troubles. Mr. Brain- 
tree was, at that time, in Russia, watching at the bedside 
of a dying sister, or, from what I have seen of him to- 


' 52 ^ Mary Starkweather. 

night, I fancy he would have been found at the front with 
the other kid gloves.” (Loud applause.) 

Mr. Naigie took Dick by the hand. 

“Let me congratulate you, young man; but let me tell 
you, you have missed your vocation. You should have 
been in Congress. It is a great pity you were not born 
poor,” said he smilingly. 

Another of the elder members, Mr. Fellows, congratu- 
lated Dick and said: 

“But, my dear boy, did you not expect this ? Did you 
not know in taking a step of this kind that it would furnish 
material for a tremendous sensation?” 

“No, I did not give it a second^s thought in that light.” 

After all, Dick had a great deal of simplicity of mind." 

“I suppose you thought you only had to mention it at 
the club and the thing was done. You thought it would 
'be a lark. It shows what a really good fellow you are.” 

“I supposed people would attend to their own business, 
at least, and allow me the same privilege. I have spent 
immense sums of money on my stable, my yacht, my 
eountry^places, yet no one has seemed to think anything 
ef it; and if I should double my expenses that I now have 
I presume it would be all right. But as soon as I take 
up this kind of work, I am assailed by supercilious criti- 
cism. However, I don’t mind it now.” 

“Of course you don’t. I guess your religion is all 
right,” said Mr. Fellows. “A man’s religion should be a 
'' religion of conduct, of intelligence. Therefore,” said he, 
turning to Mr. Naigie, “I rather think our friend has 
religion, or rather, always had it.” 

“I would like very much to interest you two gentlemen,” 
said Dick with a quizzical smile. “I know you haven’t 
much money to invest, but your influence, your judgment, 
and advice would be invaluable, and much appreciated.” 


Dick Shows His Mettle. 529 

These two men were men of fame, both colossal in busi- 
ness, and capable of making wonderfully bold strokes, the 
results of which generally justified their methods. Their 
keen business sense was marvelous. No wonder Dick was 
anxious to receive the co-operation of such financial giants. 

‘T wouldnT mind taking a hundred dollars or so worth 
of stock in this company,” said Mr. Fellows stroking his 
chin thoughtfully, with an assumed gravity; ^fi)ut I don’t 
want my little contribution trified with or thrown away 
by red tape. I want to know a little more of this, to have 
a little confidence.” 

feel much the same way,” replied Mr. Naigie, his 
eyes twinkling. ‘T also have a few dollars, that with a 
little effort and self-denial, I might spare. It would be a 
sacrifice, I confess; but still I would be willing to make 
it for a growing cause of this kind.” 

At this moment. Colonel Storr, who had been talking to 
Bennie and Donald, called order and asked Dick to give 
as concise an explanation of the project as possible, 
adding : 

^^That is the best way to find out about the merits of 
this work.” 

Dick was soon lost in the pleasure of explaining and 
extolling the merits of his plans. He became eloquent. 

like this young gladiator,” laughed Mr. Fellows to 
Mr. Naigie. 

^^So do I; he is bold, impassioned — in fact, colossal,” 
replied Mr. Naigie. am proud of him. I am glad 
we discovered him. It wouldn’t surprise me if he immor- 
talized himself. Young Gordon and Barry are in this 
thing up to their elbows. But Braintree is the leader; 
he has the most, cash, though none of them can complain 
on that score.” 

Dick, after telling what had been accomplished ,at 


530 Mary Starkweather. 

Goluckie, wound up by showing the full diagram of Sham- 
rock, the extensive plan they were now working on, and 
offering to take any number out there that desired to go 
to inspect the place; and stated that they were now get- 
ting the families in. Then, he showed the charter of the 
new colony, and how the stock had all been taken and 
chiefly by young men. 

Mr. Fellows and Mr. FTaigie were both surprised at 
the amount of work that had already been accomplished. 
They began to feel that they would have to bestir them- 
selves if they kept pace with this young gladiator that 
had sprung suddenly into life. 

Colonel Storr said: ^‘The more I see of this the more 
I am convinced that Mrs. Thornton has worked out a 
problem that will be a power for good — that is almost 
incalculable — a mine that will be well worth working.” 

^ He introduced a set of resolutions, calling for co-opera- 
tion in the new project. The resolution was adopted by 
a rising vote, nearly every person in the club standing. 

There were many points discussed and explained, several 
suggestions made and indorsed. A committee was ap- 
pointed of which Dick was chairman, to define the best 
plan of going to work. 

Dick found himself in a peculiar position before he was 
through, but he had done effective work. 

As Dick drove up Fifth Avenue with Mr. Naigie and 
Mr. Fellows, he was saying: 

donT feel called upon to give an account of my 
doings and motives to any one; but as you have shown as 
much interest in our efforts, I am going to talk freely 
and frankly with you. I am worth over fifty million 
dollars. Kdw, I cannot use that money, nor can those 
coming after me, unless we squander it. I have been 
asking myself the question, When people have enough 


Dick Shows His Mettle. 


531 


what do they want with more? Now, 1 have seen too 
much of poverty to want to subject myself or mine to 
it. But I do not believe I have a right to selfishly hoard 
up my money, just for the distinction of being called one 
of the richest young men in America. And that is about 
all it amounts to. As yet, I have done little real philan- 
thropic work. But from the little I have done, I have 
received more genuine pleasure than from anything I 
have ever done. As I entered the club, the other day, I 
presume I had been the subject of conversation; for I 
heard one man say: 

“^Oh, never mind! Braintree always planks the pew- 
ter.’ And that is about the only thing I have been noted 
for — ^to plank the pewter. And the parasites that have 
received the benefits would be the first to find fault should 
I discontinue to plank it. Now, the money I have, my 
father and his father before him worked hard for. I 
am not going to become a quixotic crank and try to feel 
I have no right to it; and give it away. But I am going 
to give the use of the bulk of it to those less fortunate 
than myself. I am going to put a large portion of it 
into a working fund. I shall charge just enough inter- 
est to save leakage, and if God spares my life, I hope to 
see, before I die, that this money has enabled thousands 
of people to obtain homes for themselves and families. 
I do not intend to wait until I am dead and leave it for 
some one else to manage and fight over; but I shall look 
after it myself. I shall devote my life to it. I shall 
arrange it so that those coming after me can withdraw 
such amounts as are needed if necessity compels them. 
But I hope that that may never happen, but, while be- 
longing to me or my descendants, it may go on and on 
aiding and helping others. I have perfect faith in this 
project. I have subjected it to the criticism of the most 


532 Mary Starkweather. 

practical men, and they agree with me that it can be made 
almost perfect. I have men, now, in the W est and Mid- 
dle States looking for locations, practical men who are 
looking at it from a purely business and humane stand- 
point. And I have the most encouraging letters. Judge 
Thornton is co-operating with me, and he says the land 
can be purchased at a low figure in the West. The only 
difficulty is the droughts, which sometimes come; but 
that can be overcome by irrigation, and if the means of 
irrigation are once provided, there is never a failure 
of crops, which is far better than to depend upon rains. He 
is going to see what can be done in the way of securing 
government lands. He is a worker from. Vay back,^’ 
laughed Dick, as he bade them good-night, and stepped 
from the carriage at his own door: 

* * H! * ♦ ♦ 5(1 

Colonel Brandt happened into the club just a few mo- 
ments before Dick had sprung to his feet to resent the 
insinuation of Horace Burt. He was standing near the 
door talking to a friend. He heard Dick^s torrent of 
words and Colonel Storr’s remarks. Then, he left the 
club as he had an engagement that he could not afford 
to break. 

Colonel Brandt was a busy man. He paid no attention 
to social matters except in a general way. He was proud 
of his handsome wife and daughters. He left all social 
and domestic affairs to them. The past few months he 
had been compelled to be away from home a good deal. 
He had been to the Pacific coast, two or three times, and 
to Europe on business. So^ he had had little time to 
Icnow really what was going on in society circles. He 
only knew, in a vague way, that his daughters were in- 
terested in some charitable movement. He did not even 
know, as yet, the extent of Edith’s subscription. But 


Dick Shows His Mettle. 533 

the scene at the club kept recurring to him and he won- 
dered if Edith had anything to do with it. 

Dick had been a revelation to him, and he thought he 
had never heard anything so impassioned. But he did 
not fancy his daughter's name being bandied about the 
club. True, he had not heard it. Yet, instinctively, he 
felt it was something with which she was connected. 

It was late when he returned home, and his wife bad 
retired for the night. The next morning, when he came 
down to his breakfast, he inquired for his daughters, and 
found they had gone out. 

He turned to his wife and asked: ^^hat is all this 
commotion about charity And he related to her the 
scene at the club. 

Mrs. Brandt then told him everything, how Edith had 
determined to go down to teach in the slums and of the 
dreadful scene they had. Then she laid Mary’s letter in 
his hands. He read it through carefully. 

^^Did Mary Thornton write that letter?” 

^^Yes,” replied Mrs. Brandt, ^^and it was the only thing 
that kept Edith from carrying out her resolution. I had 
no influence with her whatever.” 

“Well, by the eternal ! Mary Thornton ought to have 
a dozen daughters.” 

Mrs. Brandt told him something of the community 
movement, of Dick, Donald, and Bennie being interested 
in it, and added : 

“As early as it is, they are off to Mrs. Thornton’s this 
morning.” 

“Those three fellows are the cream of our young men, 
and I was proud of Dick last night. The club fairly trem- 
bled and he carried every one with him. I think I’ll 
drop into the Thorntons on my way down town,” said the 
colonel as he arose from the breakfast table. 


534 Mary Starkweather. 

It did not take long for Colonel Brandt^s trained eye 
to take in the advantages of the community movement. 
After congratulating Dick on his conquest of the night 
previous, he turned to Mary and said, as he took her hand : 

^^Your genius in originating this plan, deserves a patent 
of nobility. From things that have come to me, I think 
I can trust you to fix the matter in any shape you like. 
I confess,” laughed he, feel quite unable to make a 
suggestion. Only remember me by putting me down for 
one million dollars.” 

Mary was taken by surprise at such a munificent sub- 
scription, and she turned to Edith, who had heard what 
her father said, and exclaimed: 

^^Do you hear that?” 

Edith said: ^^But, papa, you donH know my other 
subscriptions to the churches,” and she told him. 

He looked at her a moment, then laughed and said : 

^^Edith, a duke will never do for you. You must marry 
a prince !” and he continued, turning to Mary : ^‘1 don’t 
withdraw my contribution. It is a charity I will gladly 
aid.” 

^^But, papa, it’s not a gift, it’s a loan.” 

^^No matter the name you call it by. I am going to 
give this ; and want it put into a perpetual fund, dedicated 
to a woman with a level head,” laughed the colonel as he 
took his departure. 

The following Sunday, at the close of his sermon, the 
Eev. Dr. Heber laid before his congregation the project 
they had in hand, and much surprised the majority of 
them by saying that the greater part of the stock had been 
sold. He told who was the originator of the plan, also, 
that in attempting to establish a community in connec- 
tion with his church, how quickly and generously the peo- 
ple of great wealth had responded. Then he said: 


Dick Shows His Mettle. 


535 


^^Was it the slave that pulled himself out of bondage 
into freedom? No; it was the humane Garrison, the 
aristocratic Phillips. Will it be the slum-dweller that 
will pull himself out of the slums? No; it will be the 
humane patricians of our land, who are not content to 
dwell in luxury while the people are groaning under the 
stress of poverty. These beautiful-souled women are 
working from a purely humane standpoint. They have 
put aside creeds and dogmas, and wish to dwell only in 
the spirit of love and brotherhood. Shall we do less than 
they? We will not. For it is the only, true religion.’^ 


536 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTER XL. 

EDITH LEARNS HER MISTAKE. 

Edith Brandt was much changed since the morning 
she sat at breakfast at Willowby Rest Hotel. She was far 
from happy. She had not only refused the renewed suit 
of the duke, but had positively declined all other proffers 
for her hand. Edith was convinced that her heart was 
broken. She had been subject to one or two unpleasant 
experiences through the winter. She had heard herself 
discussed by the duke and one of his titled friends, one 
night at a ball, where she happened to be sitting alone, 
ensconced from view. 

A great beauty from the West was in New York, and 
had created quite a sensation by her magnificent toilets 
and her display of wealth. She was enormously rich and 
it was said that her ancestors had been mighty brewers. 
The two gentlemen were discussing Edith and this lady. 

^‘Xow that you have missed with Miss Brandt, why 
don’t you try for this one? She has the beauty and the 
rocks, and that’s what we want.” 

^Y'es, it is what we want, and what we must have. 
That’s what we are here for,” laughed the duke with brutal 
frankness. ^^But we want to get all we can for our pre- 


Edith Learns Her Mistake. 537 

cious selves. The other one/’ — ^meaning Edith— ^^has 
beauty and money and is a Vere de Vere.” 

“While this one is only a Beer de Beer/’ laughed his 
friend; ^T)nt I fancy you could manage her more easily 
than your Yere de Yere, who is proud and haughty as the 
devil.” 

“That’s where she shows her blood and why I liked her. 
I would have risked taming her if I could have won her,” 
said his grace as they passed on. 

How Edith’s cheeks burned. She felt as if she could 
never love any man after this experience. 

It was only a few days after the ball when the little 
episode of her reciting the poem in Mary’s drawing-room 
took place. Dick’s voice had thrilled her, and she found 
herself feeling angry that even momentarily it should have 
affected her. That there had been any significance to 
Dick in the lines that he had repeated, did not once occur 
to her. She knew Dick was artistic. She knew he ad- 
mired her in a general way; and it was a very common 
thing for him to show his approval of her tasteful toilets, 
and unconsciously she had become accustomed to asking 
herself, when she was dressed for some special occasion: 

“I wonder if he will like this effect of my gown;” and 
to be surprised and disappointed if he took no notice. 

Since the morning she had repeated the verses, she 
began to notice a marked change in Dick. He seemed 
more quiet and thoughtful, but at the same time very 
gentle and tender toward her. She was aware that he 
knew of her disappointment in the duke, and she felt his 
consideration toward her was largely due to this knowl- 
edge. She appreciated it very much, as she felt sore and 
bruised from her recent experiences. She really began 
to feel that she was leaning on him for mental support. 

Colonel Brandt had given his daughters a vivid de- 


538 Mary Starkweather. 

seription of the scene at the club. He admired Dick 
greatly and was loud in his praises. 

Edith had great confidence in her father’s judgment. 
This approval of Dick from him had strengthened her 
regard. And Dick, without intending it, through being 
interested in the same work, or something, suddenly began 
to realize that Edith had become a part of his life. And 
he realized that much that he had done had been with a 
thought of what she would think. But he felt she was not 
for him. He felt almost confident he could not waken her 
heart to love. But it had been a great source of satisfac- 
tion to him to witness the defeat of the duke. 

Through the winter Charles spent every Sunday in Hew 
York. Mary also made many trips to Washington. She 
was frequently accompanied by Edith, who, in going with 
Mary had the double pleasure of being with Miss Stevens 
also. 

Dick frequently made one of the party to Washington, 
as he was interested in some measures that Charles was 
trying to put through Congress. 

Charles was fast making a record in Congress; and he 
caused some of his opponents uncomfortable hours. They 
felt that this young fellow was taking undue liberties with 
previous prescribed rules. They protested. Even the 
managers of his own party began to advise and dictate. 
But they soon discovered it was no use to tell him how 
the political machine should be run. They found he 
would not be an engineer for them. He had his own 
views and had the courage to stand by them. In spite 
of their fears and in the face of opposition, his 
views advanced from point to point without much argu- 
ment and without a particle of ostentation on his part. 
And many were surprised to find themselves indorsing 
and voting on new measures put forth by this young mem- 


Edith Learns Her Mistake. 


539 


ber — views that a short time before, they were diametri- 
cally opposed to. Suddenly they began to realize that he 
was one of their most capable members. 

A few days after the events of our last chapter, Edith 
and Dick were in Washington with Mary and Charles. 
This visit had been made chiefly for the purpose of at- 
tending a dinner-dance at the home of the Hon. George 
Stevens, when the engagement of Isabel to a Colonel 
Evans of the regular army was to be announced. 

On the evening of the dance, Mary and Charles had 
left the Stevens home, and had gone to attend some other 
function. Edith and Dick had returned to the hotel, and 
had taken possession of Mary’s private parlor. They were 
seated in a luxurious ^‘^conversation chair,” face to face, 
discussing the events of the evening together with the 
prospective happiness of the coming bride and groom. 
Edith admired Miss Stevens very much. Eeferring to 
Colonel Evans, she said, with a sigh: 
hope he is worthy of Isabel.” 

^^So do I,” replied Dick. ‘^She seems so happy it would 
be sad for such love to die.” 

^^But that’s the worst of it. Love does not always die,” 
said Edith. 

cannot understand that,” replied Dick. could 
not love an unworthy person. If I loved I would give 
all; but if I found the person I loved was unworthy, my 
love would die. It might die hard, but it would surely 
die. I could not stoop to love an unworthy object.” 

Edith’s hand was resting on the arm of the chair be- 
tween them. Her eyes were downcast. She was think- 
ing of what he had been saying. He was leaning back 
looking at her. She was all in shimmering white satin 
and lace, with diamonds gleaming from her purple-tinted 


540 Mary Starkweather. 

hair •and on her breast. A bnnch of violets was fastened 
at her belt and were exhaling their sweetest perfume. 

'"Yes,” said Edith, ''I know men easily forget. It 
doesn’t seem to be hard for them to find an excuse for 
doing so.” 

Dick smiled and laying his hand lightly on hers, he 
said : 

^dt would not be easy to forget you. It would be 
easier for me to forget to breathe than to forget you.” 

Edith laughed a little low musical laugh as she ex- 
claimed : 

“You are incorrigible !” 

“Dick sighed audibly and said: “If you could only ^ 
understand !” 

“I !” she exclaimed. “Oh, I understand you, ef course ; 
but sometime you may talk to those that do not under- 
stand, and that would be unfortunate. Sometimes I think 
you do wrong to say those frivolous things and trifie with 
sentiment as you do.” 

“I trifle ? Listen to what I shall say now !” 

There was a world of suppressed excitement in the voice ‘ 
of this strong man as he took her hand in his and -said: j 

“Edith, do you not know that I love you ? How fondly, ^ 
how fervently time alone can show; for I can never find ' 
language to express it. Will you — ^will you be my wife?” ) 

Edith had turned white to the lips at this abrupt ^ 
avowal. She sat motionless, not even lifting her eyes. ■ 
She could hardly believe her senses. Yet she knew in- ] 
stantly he was speaking from his heart. How tender he \ 
was ! His voice had a touch of reverence in it, as if I 
speaking to a saint. \ 

She lifted her eyes and looked at him. J 

“Will you, dear?” he said leaning toward her. \ 


Edith Learns Her Mistake. 541 

Dick, don’t,” she said pleadingly. ‘^It’s no use. 
You know all. I can never love again.” 

^^Never, dear — ^never?” 

“Never,” she repeated, her eyes taking a grave far-away 
look for an instant. Then she brought them back to his 
face. “You would not want to marry a woman unless 
she loved you, would you?” 

“No, I would not. Much as I love you, I would not 
want to m^rry you unless I possessed all your love, your 
very soul. For it is in the soul that love must have its 
root. I have seen too much of life, and recently have 
thought too deeply on these things, to ever be contented 
with an ordinary marriage. I must have all — or nothing. 
I must feel that the woman that is to be my wife and the 
mother of my children, must love and be satisfied that she 
is loved. I must not doubt the woman I love, nor must 
I be doubted. Such a state of existence would not enable 
either of us to incarnate into our children the highest 
ideals of manhood and womanhood. I have sins enough 
to answer for. I will not add that to their number. I 
would live alone forever rather than be allied with an alien 
soul, no matter how dear she might be to me. Nor could 
I have love consumed by social creeds and restrictions. 
I want no masquerades of love in my life.” 

Edith was perfectly silent. As she sat leaning back 
against the chair, a warm fiush had crept into her face, 
and her long lashes swept her cheek concealing her down- 
cast eyes. Dick half rose from his chair, then settled 
hack again. He took her passive hand and pressed it to 
his lips and said, as he leaned toward her: 

“Edith, do you know that to me you are the most beau- 
tiful woman in the world, and that your very breath is 
wine to me? If I knew that I could rest on your bosom 
and dwell in it forever, that your voice would be the first 


542 Mary Starkweather. 

to greet me in the morning and the last to fall upon my 
ears when I slept; if I could look in your eyes and read 
and see reflected there all that I feel for you; if I knew, 
dear, that I could hold you close through life, and know 
that when death came it was only a loosening for a day, 
to reclasp you on the other side, and rest your head on my 
bosom through all eternity, I would be content. I could 
bear all the ills that might come to me if I had this blessed 
assurance. But I see it cannot be.” Again he pressed 
her hand to his lips. 

will leave you now. I take it, you understand your- 
self, and know your own mind. I consider your answer 
as flnal. It will be a sorrow to me, but one for which I 
was not totally unprepared. I will never broach the sub- 
ject again to you, and I presume we shall meet socially, 
as usual. But I want you to know this: that although I 
shall never speak of it again, I shall never change, nor 
even try to forget. I am a better man than I was, and a 
wiser. I have overcome much. I feel that my soul has 
changed. I shall try to bear this as a man should.” 

Again he pressed her hand to his lips. He arose and 
stood for an instant before her. 

‘^^Good-night, dear.” 

He passed back of her chair and with the utmost ten- 
derness he rested his hand lightly on her head, for an 
instant, as if in silent benediction. Then the door opened 
and closed. He was gone. She was alone. 

It was a strange wooing. Edith shivered. It seemed 
as if in his going, all the light in her life went out. 

In the little vestibule Dick donned his overcoat, but- 
toned it up, put on his hat and went down and out into 
the night. At the foot of the steps, he stopped, took a 
cigar from his pocket, struck a match on the rail, lit his 
cigar, tossed the match aside, looked up and down the 


Edith Learns Her Mistake. 


543 


street as if undecided; put his hands in his pocket and 
turned toward his hotel. Nothing frenzied about him. 
Again he was disappointing. 

Edith sat where Dick had left her, for a few minutes. 
Then again she shivered as if with cold. She arose and 
went to her room. When she reached it, there were traces 
of tears on her cheek. She felt lonely, wounded, de- 
serted. She had become used to seeing Dick and going 
to consult him. Everything had been going on so 
smoothly. Why, oh, why had he spoiled it all by pro- 
posing to her! Could she never have a friend? It was 
not necessary for her to be a mystic in order to know that 
he had spoken from his heart; no use for him to say they 
would meet as usual. She knew it was impossible and 
that all the pleasant days of going about freely with him 
were over. She felt she had lost him forever. There was 
a storm seething in her soul. She buried her face in her 
hands and sobbed convulsively. She almost felt that Dick 
was dead and buried. After awhile, she grew calmer; 
and she began to live over, in quick memory, the past year 
of her life. She recalled the meeting of the duke and what 
an impression he had made upon her. Then she remem- 
bered her cruel disappointment when she began to sus- 
pect his love had its inception from her father’s millions, 
and was wholly based on covetousness, selfishness, greed 
and self-conceit. She remembered how her cheek had 
burned upon her realization that she was only a chattel, 
representing to him so much money. Then, in addition 
to this, came the shock of learning that he had a morga- 
natic wife and several children. And she recalled how his 
grace had made light of this legitimate branch of 
English life as one of the customs of the country in which 
he lived. How he had declared, as if in extenuation, that 
this wife was a ^^good woman — really quite a lady;” but 


544 


Marv Starkweather. 


that he would put her away and have nothing more to do 
with her. The duke’s explanation had only made matters 
worse. In imagination, Edith pictured this woman, with 
her worse than fatherless children, whose weight of sorrow 
would touch the heart of a stone, the victim of this man’s 
avarice and caprice. 

She realized there was neither justice nor decency in 
such a state of affairs, nor the redeeming thought of good 
intention. It was deliberate and premeditated wrong. 
She had been horrified to find that it was the basis of 
many marriages in high life in England, and that Ameri- 
can women, who had been brought up in a country where 
this state of things would be considered a crime, were 
groaning over it in secret and paying for this luxury (?) 
with their millions. 

Edith felt it was even worse than Mormonism. In 
her own country she would consider even the acquaintance 
of a Mormon an insult. Could she condone as legiti- 
mate in England what she would consider a crime in her 
own country? No; she could not. The declaration of 
the duke that he loved her, and her alone, only brought 
to her mind’s eye a vision of a lonely woman with her 
little ones gathered around her, deserted and forsaken. 
She determined that she would never be accessory to this 
sin. And she at once insisted upon returning to America. 
But the wound had been too deep to be healed suddenly. 

Now, from the review of her acquaintance with the duke, 
came a vision of Dick. She remembered, when he told 
her of his love, that he had spoken of his children. 
Then, he loved her and had thought far enough ahead for 
that. She felt her neck, hands and face grow warm. Yet, 
why not ? Surely, the man that could so think and choose 
a wife, must be beyond the ordinary. She knew he did not 
love her for her money. He was worth millions. She 


Edith Learns Her Mistake. 


545 


knew how he had been sought after, knew the brilliant 
matches he might have made. Then it was love for her very 
self. She felt sure Dick would have married her had she 
been a peasant. Then, she recalled what he had said ; that 
he could not love an unworthy object; that he had after- 
ward said that he would love her always. So, he deemed 
she would always be worthy of love. Again her face grew 
hot. He was loving her as she had loved the duke; for 
what he believed her to be. Was she worthy of such love? 
For she — what was she doing? Loving a man that was 
a scheming trickster — a man that had tried to purloin her 
fortune through a pretence of love, that, instead of giving 
her holy, pure, honorable love, offered her palsied unhap- 
piness. 

Already, in contrasting these two men, the duke was 
losing; Dick was gaining. She was convinced in her 
own heart she could never love again; and she regretted 
losing her friend, who had been so much to her; and she 
dreaded meeting him. 

The next morning Dick made his appearance. He was 
exactly the same as he had ever been. It was surprising. 
Slowly she began to realize the strength of this man. 

Dick was sorry he had proposed to Edith. It had not 
been premeditated. He thought it all over carefully, 
and he had made up his mind that this blunder of his 
should not break up their friendly relations. He exerted 
himself to relieve her from all embarrassment, and, at the 
end of a week, he had so far succeeded that to Edith it 
almost seemed like a dream. She had not only regained 
her usual composure, but she was fast beginning to realize, 
as never before, that this love for the duke, or what she 
thought love, was really perverted imagination. 

A few weeks after the visit to Washington, Mary, Edith 
and Dick were returning from a trip down in the tene- 


546 Mary Starkweather. 

ment-district. Suddenly, there was a cry of alarm, and 
bells began to ring wildly. The driver tried to whip np 
the horses and escape; bnt the houses seemed to instantly 
empty themselves of their inmates into the street, and the 
crowd so quickly gathered force that the carriage became 
wedged and had to stop. There was a deafening noise 
and din. The carriage was blocked just opposite a five- 
story tenement house that was on fire in the rear. The 
fire engines were on hand immediately. The firemen 
carried the hose round the corner of the street, trying to 
reach the house from the back. 

Suddenly there was a glare, and a long tongue of fiame 
darted upward, and a woman with three children ap- 
peared on the roof. She seemed in a frenzy, and took 
one of the children up, as if to throw it down to the crowd. 
Men, women, children, began to shriek and gesticulate. 
There was a fire-escape in front of the house; but the 
woman either did not know of it, or she was too frightened 
to make use of it. 

Before Mary and Edith were aware of what he was 
doing, Dick had sprung out,' and pulling off his top-coat, 
which he tossed into the carriage, he was pushing his way 
through the crowd to the burning house. 

Shoving a barrel that stood near under the fire-escape, 
he mounted it, and very easily drew himself up to the 
ladder. He had hardly reached the top of the house, when 
several firemen appeared in front. 

Dick took the children down, one by one, and passed 
them to the firemen. Then he helped down the woman. 
He was following her, when suddenly he stopped, as if 
listening, then retraced his steps a little way, and swung 
himself to a window that was closed. He tried to raise 
it and found it was fastened. He kicked it in, and, as 
a great volume of smoke poured out, he disappeared 


Edith Learns Her Mistake. 


547 


within. In a moment, he emerged with a child about 
three years old in his arms. He was soon on the ground, 
amid the shouts and cheers of the crowd. Giving the 
child into the hands of a policeman, he pushed his way 
back to the carriage, into which he sprang, laughing; and 
with the exception of being a little grimy, none the worse 
for his adventure. 

Again was Dick disappointing. He had not had a 
thrilling escape. He had gone up the ladder, like the 
gymnast that he was, and had got the woman and the 
children down, kicked in a window, and rescued a scream- 
ing child from a room in which she was locked; and he 
had not so much as blistered his hands or lost an eyelash. 

To the romanticist, this would have been discouraging. 

There was but one result from the incident. It had 
suddenly opened Edith Brandt’s eyes to the fact that she 
loved Eichard Braintree. 

When she saw him springing up the ladder, and, as she 
believed, endangering his life, she realized how dear he 
was to her. From that instant until vshe saw him safe on 
the ground, she lived ages. 

Both she and Mary had watched him every moment. 
Neither spoke. Mary saw the deadly pallor on Edith’s 
face and knew she was suffering. 

When Dick entered the carriage, Mary took both his 
hands in hers, and kissed them as the tears streamed down 
her cheeks. Edith would have given worlds to have done 
the same; but instead, she only hugged his coat that she 
held in her arms. Edith recalled Dick’s words : 

take it, you understand yourself and know your own 
mind. I consider your answer final. I will never broach 
this subject again to you.” 

And she kept repeating to herself : "'He will never know. 
He will never know.” And as days rolled into weeks. 


548 Mary Starkweather. 

and weeks into months it became with Edith a clear case 
of the ^Vorm i^ the bnd.” She felt she conld never tell 
Dick — ^never let him know. If she had only possessed 
Pansy’s frankness and simplicity, she might not only have 
saved herself, but Dick also, months of suffering and un- 
certainty. 

And Pansy, the dimpled, golden-haired witch; what 
was she doing all through the long, brilliant winter ? She 
was so happy in her restored health, so absorbed in the 
round of gayety, together with the new pursuits, she was 
drinking so deep of glad youth and pleasure, that she 
seemed to have no thought for aught else. Did she not 
hear Love, Love, the boisterous little god, knocking at 
her door? Did she not hear the wild music, the ‘burst 
of merriment and victorious shout of the throng of revel- 
lers that accompanied him ? Did she not know the cham- 
pagne of love was held to her lips? — that wine that 
sparkles and hubbies, and intoxicates and inebriates the 
senses ? Did she not know the time had come that, witch- 
ing and winsome as she was, she must decide whether the 
seeds of Truth that had been planted in her soul, within 
the past few months, should be choked by the weeds of 
vanity, folly, and all unprofitableness, or that they should 
grow, flower, and perfect themselves in the fulness of 
golden fruit? Did she not know all this? Did she not 
see the beseeching glances and hear and feel the burning 
sighs from lovesick swains, who were ready to swear to 
her eternal fidelity? Did she not see brave Donald’s 
anxious face? Could she not read the flush on his cheek 
when he approached her? Could she not feel his hand 
tremble when it touched hers? Did she know her power, 
was she playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse? 

'No; she was not a finished coquette. She was too hon- 
est, too artless. She had heard the wild music, and the 


Edith Learns Her Mistake. 549 

knocking, but she did not wholly understand. But Truth 
dwelt in her soul. The interpreter had but to come, and 
Truth would be true to her charge. 

Donald Barry, heir to one of the oldest names and titles, 
and to one of the richest estates in England, was con- 
sidered one of the greatest ^^catches.” There was not an 
eligible girl in the smart set that would have turned a 
deaf ear to Donald. But there was but one he cared for, 
and that was Pansy Brandt. Donald had not a particle 
of egotism in his composition. He constantly saw Pansy 
surrounded by admirers. To him, she seemed a being 
from some other planet. He worshipped her, but it did 
not seem possible to him that she could love a great, big, 
coarse fellow like himself. 

Donald was happy and miserable by turns ; but the time 
was drawing near for his annual visit to his grandfather, 
and he determined to tell Pansy all that was in his heart 
and know the worst. And just as Dick was swinging 
himself up the fire-escape, down in the tenement district, 
Donald entered the Brandt home with a manly stride, and 
with resolution stamped all over his handsome face and 
figure. 

Donald used to wonder what Pansy wore that made her 
look as if she had little wings all over her. Now, coming 
in suddenly, he found her, as usual, in a filmy, misty, in- 
tangible something that made her seem to him about as 
substantial as a sifted sunbeam. And the sight of her 
caused this man, this great, big Donald, that could face a 
gun without flinching, that was not afraid of a wild bull, 
or a Texas mustang, — to blush and tremble like a very 
girl and look as simple as a lad of fifteen that had his 
first case of love, but had lost his tongue. 

Pansy came forward to meet him, with her starry eyes 


550 


Mary Starkweather. 

gleaming, and had he not been blind, he could have read 
the wistful love with which they were running over. 

Under no circumstances was Donald one of the swear- 
ing, vehement, protesting kind; but now, he could utter 
no word, even, of all the many things he had intended to 
say. He could only stand trembling before her, and blurt 
out in the most abrupt manner the fact that he was going 
away. 

^Uoing away !” exclaimed Pansy in a voice full of tears ; 
^%oing away to leave -me T'' 

Oh, the look that came into Donald’s face at her words ! 
Talk about the ice breaking up in December, about the 
sun bursting through clouds! There is no simile that 
could give the reader an idea of the joy that swept into 
Donald’s face as he exclaimed in a voice burdened with 
love: 

^Tansy, Pansy! Can it be?” 

^^Donald dear !” she exclaimed, ^^can’t you, can’t you see 
that I ” 

Ho need for more words. They both understood. In- 
stantly the strong man had folded her on his breast, her 
arms were about his neck. It was a good thing that 
Donald had eyes to serve as escape-valves for his soul. 
Otherwise, it surely would have burst for joy; for Donald, 
the great Texas calf, could not speak, but spangled Pansy’s ‘ 
golden head with his tears as he held her closely pressed 
to his heart. 


Dick is Made Happy. 


551 


CHAPTEE XLI. 

DICK IS MADE HAPPY. 

When the Brandts were in England, they had met 
Donald’s grandfather. His lordship had taken a great 
liking to both Edith and Pansy, and when Donald tele- 
graphed him of his engagement to Pansy, he was over- 
joyed ; and replied that in view of the engagement, Donald 
might forego his visit, at that time, to England. He 
also announced his intention of coming to America, him- 
self, in order to be present at the wedding, after which, 
he should expect not only Donald and Pansy, but also 
Bennie and Annie to return to England with him to re- 
main for a year. 

^ These arrangements had been agreed upon. And the 
two weddings were set for the eighteenth of June. His 
lordship had not been unmindful of Annie, and had looked 
to it that her dower was befitting his grand-daughter. 

At first, it had been intended that Annie and Bennie 
were to he married at high noon at Grace Church, and 
Pansy and Donald in the evening at the Brandt home. 
But Colonel Brandt would have it that the two weddings 
should take place at his home, and at high noon ; and they 
would all leave on a special train in the afternoon. He 


552 Mary Starkweather. 

was allowed to have his way, as he declared he was going 
to have one vacation himself. He was having a special 
train of cars fitted np in sumptuous style, and was going 
to take the whole bridal party on a trip to the Pacific 
Coast. Isabel Stevens and Colonel Evans were to be mar- 
ried at about the same time and had accepted Colonel 
BrandPs invitation to join his party. 

The months were fiying by. The winter that had come 
in early and with a rush, and that in the city had been 
full of life and gayety, was apparently inclined to take a 
sudden and early departure. Even March forgot to be 
tempestuous, and seemed to take on a subtle, ethereal 
quality, quite unusual. The sun became luminous, the 
days waxed warmer, and in the glow and glory of spring, 
there came a bitter contest for supremacy between fiower, 
vine, and shrub. Even the tiny violet peeped out, and 
seeing sunlight instead of snow, lifted its head, fiowered, 
and grew bold. The great trees coaxed the sunshine into 
their hearts, and with the sudden rush of sap to their 
heads, laughed and twined their branches together, danc- 
ing in the breeze like regular old Bacchantes. 

In the glory of the early spring, the new community of 
Shamrock, with its newly graded streets, was truly beauti- 
ful. The enterprise was promoted wholly by Donald, Dick 
and Bennie. In addition to the land that Bennie owned, 
they had purchased nearly a thousand acres more. The 
town was laid out exactly like Goluckie, but on a much 
larger scale. Hear the center of the land was a clump of 
fine old oaks, pines, and maples. 

When the town was surveyed, they had taken care that 
this clump of trees should be in the central plot of ground, 
and this added much to the beauty and symmetry of the 
landscape. 

There were several orchards on the land, together with 


553 


Dick is Made Happy. 

many other kinds of trees and shrubs, and when these did 
not interfere with the agricultural purposes, they were 
allowed to remain, chiefly for this reason, the place was 
robbed of the appearance of newness that it otherwise 
would have had. 

The cottages that were modern in design, were all oc- 
cupied. The schools were opened and filled with happy 
children under the care of capable teachers. The churches 
were finished. Stores and shops were opened. In fact, 
everything was flourishing. Men skilled in agriculture 
and floriculture had been employed; also the best teach- 
ers and instructors in all branches that were required for 
the advancement of these people in the new community. 

The dedication of Shamrock, with appropriate cere- 
monies, took place on the first day of May. And it seemed 
as if heaven and earth conspired to create a perfect day. 
It was a day ever to be remembered, not only by the people 
that had been so favored as to find there a home, but by 
the promoters. One thing had happened to make it by 
far the one supreme and happiest day of Dick’s life. 

The day before the dedication, Dick, Donald and Ben- 
nie, with Mary and a party of young people, had gone to 
Shamrock to take a last survey of things, preparatory to 
the exercises of the following day. They had driven from 
place to place, and at last they had come to the little spring 
where they drank on their first visit to Bennie’s land. It 
had been made into a drinking-fountain of unique design. 
It was the figure of Mercy bending forward, with her hands 
hollowed, to form a cup, from which the water was flowing. 
Kneeling at her feet was a thirsty beggar, looking long- 
ingly and thirstily at the hands held so graciously toward 
him. In the figure of Mercy, there was an unmistak- 
able resemblance to Edith. The whole was of Carrara 
marble and exquisitely beautiful, a real work of art. The 


554 Mary Starkweather. 

little party was loud in its expressions of admiration. 
Edith, alone, was silent. She had been inexpressibly 
touched by this tribute, and this sign of continued remem- 
brance on the part of Dick. She was absolutely wretched. 
Daily she reproached herself for having been so blind as 
not to have known the difference between pure gold and 
dross. What she had experienced for the duke, was the 
beginning of love, which, had the object been worthy, no 
doubt would have grown into a lasting affection. But it 
had been killed, and this all-absorbing passion had taken 
its place, and was eating out her very heart. Every day 
she realized the worth of this strong man that she had 
cast aside; but she could not tell him — she could not let 
him know. Edith’s silence had oppressed Dick. He mis- 
took it for indifference. He was as wretched as she. If 
two minds can affect each other, it is not surprising that 
they both suffered. They were both wretchedly unhappy, 
and both thinking constantly of the other. 

The party was to spend the night at Mabelthorp, and 
return from there to Shamrock the next day. 

In the early twilight, they were collected in the long 
drawing-room at Mabelthorp. As usual, when these young 
people were together, there was no dearth of amusement, 
and they were discussing some features of the coming 
weddings. As Annie and Pansy were to be married at 
the same time,* Annie insisted on calling them the ‘Mob 
Lot” weddings. 

“Don’t talk about ‘job lots’ in polite society, sister mine,” 
protested Donald. “Don’t you know it’s a dead give away. 
It’s equivalent to saying our ancestors were in trade.” 

“Well, weren’t they?” retorted Annie. “Didn’t our 
daddy sell job lots of goods? There’s where I was edu- 
cated in job lots.” 

“I think job lots just as nice business as peddling fruit 


555 


Dick is Made Happy. 

as Eve did, or being in the real estate business like Adam. 
You must remember we all had our origin in trade,” said 
Pansy. 

‘‘Yes,” chimed in Bennie, “and please remember that 
as usual the woman got the best of the bargain. Poor 
Adam must have been blind, just think of Eve cheating 
him the way she did — by trading him Just a little bit of 
an apple for all Paradise.” 

“Moral — beware of the glamour of a woman,” exclaimed 
Donald, dodging a bon-bon Annie flung at his head. 

“Adam, the glutton, ate his part of the bargain; but 
Eve, like all frugal, clever women, stuck to her Paradise,” 
said Annie. 

“As little Carl Burton says, ‘you can’t prove it, I know 
you can’t/ ” laughed Donald. 

“Yes, I can. Since that transaction, doesn’t every 
Adam swear he is in Paradise when Eve is nigh ?” saucily 
retorted Annie, flinging a coquettish glance at Bennie, as 
she flitted over to the piano, and began singing a gay 
little air. 

After Annie’s song, Mary asked Dick to sing. In this 
request she was joined by the others. Dick tried to ex- 
cuse himself. Edith was sitting near him. She had a 
longing to hear his voice, and turning toward him, she 
said impulsively: 

“For my sake, will you not sing?” 

Dick’s heart throbbed at her words. He wished himself 
miles away, but he went to the piano and sang. His hands 
wandered over the keys in a prelude all in minor chords. 
Then his voice, rich and powerful, broke forth with 
plaintive pathos that thrilled and touched the hearts of 
those that listened. It really startled both Charles and 
Mary. 


556 Mary Starkweather. 

Rough tempests of woe pass over the soul. 

The winds of anguish we cannot control; 

And shoch after shock we are called to bear^ 

"Til the lips are white with the hearths despair. 

The shores of Time with wrecks are strown. 

Unto the earth cometh ever a moan; 

Wrecks of hope that set sail with glee. 

Wrecks of love sinking silently. 

Many are hidden from human eye, • 

Only God knoweth how deep they lie; 

Only God hears when arises the prayer. 

Help me to bear. Oh, help me to bear!"" 

Mary glanced at Charles and both felt a pang of pity. 
They felt Dick was singing ont his heart’s grief. They 
were sure he loved Edith. 

If Dick could have seen the tears that gushed to Edith’s 
eyes as she listened to the song, his heart-throb would have 
been joy. When he finished the song, he turned to look 
for her, but she was nowhere visible. He thought: 

^^She urges me to sing, then leaves the room.” 

After acknowledging the compliments paid him for his 
song, he sauntered through the room into the conserva- 
tory and out into the grounds. He took a cigar from his 
pocket and strolled over the lawn toward a rustic seat, and 
just as he was about to strike a match, on the sole of his 
boot, he heard a suppressed sob. He paused to listen. 
The sound was repeated — ^this time more faintly. It was 
from some one on the other side of the tree, where he had 
just sat down. 

As he walked over the soft grass there had been no 
sound from his footsteps. He passed around to the other 


557 


Dick is Made Happy. 

side of the tree and was astonished to see Edith sobbing 
as if her heart would break. She saw him and was at once 
on her feet. She reeled and swayed for an instant and 
would have fallen had he not caught her. For a brief 
moment as his arms encircled her, there was an awful tug- 
ging at the heartstrings of both. She did not, as he ex- 
pected she would, disengage herself from him ; and in spite 
of himself his heart leaped up as he looked at her. Her 
lips were mute, but some of her pride had gone; he read 
hope in the language of her eyes as she lifted them and 
gazed into his. Dick was trembling with excitement. He 
was holding her, now, in reality, as he had held her in his 
dreams a thousand times. 

^^Edith! Edith!” he exclaimed; “forgive me for break- 
ing my word; but I am a beggar, begging for your para- 
dise of, love. Oh, dear heart, be kind to me, at least. 
Perhaps you cannot love me, but 

“Oh, yes, Dick, it was all a mistake. I did not know or 
understand myself. Now, if you want me, I am yours, — 
all yours.” 

The joy of this frank confession was almost too great 
for Dick; and he was almost speechless as he held her in 
his arms and passionately kissed her lips and eyes. After 
awhile she said: 

“You have conquered me, dear.” 

“My own,” he replied as he kissed her; “in mutual 
love, can one be victor over the other?” 

“If it could be, I would be willing to be captive,” she 
replied, as she nestled within his arms. 

Dick held her close as he said: “You have suffered so. 
If I only could have saved you from this.” 

“I am so glad of it,” she replied gazing on him fondly. 
“Save for it, I should never have known how to appreci- 
ate you. I have gained wisdom through experience.” 


558 Mary Starkweather. 

And on this glorious evening, down at Mabelthorp, 
where the trees and grass were emerald, and the bushes 
were snow-stormed with blossoms, where the stars were 
beginning to glow in the vaulted heavens, came this new- 
born love; and Gotham’s smart set bestowed upon the 
world a second Mary Thornton, who would bless all that 
she would touch. 

Dick still held Edith close. At last he said, am 
afraid to loosen my hold.” 

^^Why?” queried she. 

^^Oh, my darling, it has all been so sudden, so unex- 
pected! An hour ago I was wretched, miserable, and I 
fear now, if I let you go, you will leave me, dear.” 

‘^Never, never!” she exclaimed, as she twined her arms 
about his neck, “ I know my heart now, and I am yours, 
both in this world and the world to come.” 

When the understanding between those two souls be- 
came complete, the breeze that had stopped to listen to 
Dick’s first words, began, now, to sigh with great satisfac- 
tion, — or perhaps it was with envy, — through the trees. 
Then Edith and Dick wandered back to the house, which 
they entered with their faces eloquent with happiness. 

When they re-entered the drawing-room, Annie looked 
at their happy faces for a moment, then exclaimed aloud : 
^^As I live ! I believe it’s a fresh invoice of matrimonial 
job lots.” 

This caused a shout of merriment, and Edith and Dick 
were too happy to deny Annie’s assertions, and were im- 
mediately overwhelmed with congratulations. 

Ah ! there can be some true love developed in the smart 
set, as well as in the dairy or cottage; where, according 
to poets, is the only place that true love flourishes. They 
were as happy as though they had not been millionaires- 


Dick is Made Happy. 559 

And this was principally why the dedication of Shamrock 
became a red letter day to Dick. 

That night, in Colonel Brandt’s home, as that gentle- 
man held the hands of Donald and Dick, he said: 

^^Of all the men I know in the world, you are the two 
to whom I would most gladly consign the happiness of 
my daughters.” 

Mrs. Brandt was also very happy, as both Donald and 
Dick were favorites of hers. 


5^0 


Mary Starkweather, 


CHAPTEK XLII. 

SEEDS BY THE WAYSIDE. 

In' an elegant private car that was speeding back to New 
York from the new town of Shamrock^ were seated twenty- 
five or thirty men who had attended the Dedication. 
Many of them were stockholders in the New Company. 
They were of course discussing the new project and the 
dedicatory exercises. They all had the air of men that 
had been on a regular lark, and were enjoying themselves 
hugely; Colonel Eversoll had made a delightful address 
to the new dwellers in Shamrock^ brimful of hope and 
warm-hearted human sympathy. 

A group of men were speaking of him, of his kindly 
speech, and of the man himself; of his generous acts and 
silent charities. He evidently had many friends among 
them. As they were talking, the colonel came in breezily 
from another part of the train. Near where he entered 
sat the group discussing him. He stopped for a few 
words with them, and to the question as to what he thought 
of the new town and new movement, he exclaimed in his 
emphatic manner: 

^^Miracles, miracles ! I never believed in them until re- 
cently. Look at all you fellows who have come down here 
to look after these poor, homeless devils. Look at Dick, 


Seeds by the Wayside. 561 

Donald and Bennie. Look at all the young girls and wom- 
en that were there to-day, and think what they were 
one year ago. Then they were souls in embryo. Now 
they all seem like full-fledged gods of some sort. Then 
look at that town we have just left. It’s nothing but a 
miracle. I believe in occular demonstration. We have 
had it to-day. Believe in such miracles? Well, rather!” 

‘‘And to think Mrs. Thornton is back of it all,” said 
one of the gentlemen. “She must have* had wings when 
she was born.” 

“Mary Thornton was not always what she is now,” re- 
plied the colonel. “She was a flery little thing with a 
powerful will of her own. She has become what she is 
through patient study, and a desire to do good. If we 
could have such religionists as she the sky would be 
clearer, the stars brighter, and the very hills and valleys 
would rejoice. Her religion is practical; it is not all a 
theory, a dream. Not a day passes that she does not try 
to abolish heart-aches and heart-breaks. She understands 
the grand ideal of Brotherhood. She is trying to aid in 
creating a new manhood and womanhood. And I believe 
the world is slowly beginning to realize the possibilities 
of Universal Brotherhood as never before. If there is a 
merciful God in the heavens, man should never expect to 
reach Him until his love is great enough to reach from 
the hovel to His Throne.” 

The colonel had grown quite serious. A gentleman 
who was a strong believer in all forms of orthodoxy, now 
spoke, and said rather quizzically : 

“How tolerant you have become. Colonel. You may be- 
come orthodox yet.” 

“Not while I have brains left with which to think,” re- 
plied the colonel testily. 

“Mrs, Thornton’s religion is not so bad,” continued the 


562 Mary Starkweather. 

gentleman who had just spoken ; ^'and if she had refrained 
from becoming a mind specialist, she would have been all 
right.” 

^‘^hler religion can never make driveling idiots of peo- 
ple,” said the colonel, ‘^and as for her faith-cures, accord- 
ing to your Bible they have as much, nay, more truth than 
orthodoxy, which has no evidence. Your Christ did 
teach that cures could be made by faith ; but I have failed 
to find where He taught orthodoxy. Orthodoxy claims 
that it can by faith and prayer, instantly cure and make 
white as shining snow the soul of the vilest criminal. If 
the soul can be so quickly cleansed, then why not the body ? 
The belief in one is not more absurd than in the other. I 
do not claim infallibility for Mrs. Thornton; but when I 
looked at those people to-day and saw hope written in 
their faces where so lately despair had been, and then 
looked into the faces of all you fellows, and saw what I 
call 'Brotherhood growth, — ^the growth that only comes 
from quickened impulses for good, — I swear, for a minute, 
I could hardly speak ; and I felt that I would rather have 
the heritage that Mary Thornton could leave than that 
of any Martin Luther, John Calvin, Bloody Mary or 
Elizabeth that ever lived. And I would rather stand in 
the shoes of Gordon, Braintree, or Barry than in those of 
Napoleon.” 

All present agreed with the colonel, even the orthodox 
friend. And they began eulogizing Mary; for they all 
knew that while she had had nothing to do with Shamrock 
personally, she was the power behind the throne. 

So it is well to pass on and listen to what the next 
group down the car is saying. They are strangers, except 
Donald, who is speaking to them of Mary: 

"Now it’s the little simple things that both Mrs. Thorn- 
ton and Gertrude drop, that set you thinking, as Ger- 


Seeds by the Wayside. 563 

trude calls them, — ^little seeds by the wayside.’ I never 
but vaguely understood what I had heard and read about 
atmosphere; and so, one day I told Mrs. Thornton I did 
not understand it. She replied: 

‘Some day go down to some of the large, fashionable 
dry-goods stores where the comfortably rich and prosper- 
ous ‘shop’ ; then go to one of the large department-stores, 
say on a ‘bargain-day,’ and walk about for an hour. Note 
your feelings. Go to the police court-room when court 
is not in session, and afterward go to some church, and 
sit alone in the silence of each place for a half hour. If 
you will do this, I think you will more clearly understand 
atmospheric influences, than from all the explanations I 
could give you.’ 

“I actually tried it,” declared Donald, “and I assure 
you she was correct. I realize now, what I once could 
not account for. I know, now, that I have always been 
particularly sensitive to atmospheric effects, especially 
from people. Mrs. Thornton is so very practical, and, as 
I have said before, it is the little things that she says that 
are more eloquent than stilted sermons.” 

“I know that is true and that the whole course of a 
man’s life may he changed in the twinkling of an eye,” 
said a middle-aged man who had been an interested lis- 
tener. “I have, in mind, a circumstance, and as it 
changed all my preconceived ideas and teachings of re- 
ligion, I think I must tell you of it. In the early seven- 
ties, I took my young wife and went to Helena, Mont. 
It was then a well settled and flourishing mining camp. 
There were both a Catholic and a Protestant Church. 
The Protestant Church was presided over by a well-fed, 
self-sufficient clergyman, a great stickler for theology 
and dogma. I never knew him to do anything but preach 
and pray. H^ prayed every place he could get a chance. 


564 Mary Starkweather. 

from a funeral to a dog fight. Soon after our arrival in 
Helena, the Episcopal Church sent Bishop Nuttle out 
West to preside over the diocese of Idaho, Utah, and 
Montana. The bishop settled temporarily in Helena, and 
held services in the court-house, which was always filled 
when he officiated. He was, at that time, the youngest 
bishop in the Episcopal Church in America. He was a 
grand man. He was not ‘one of the boys,^ yet he could 
tell a good story without missing the point, or he could 
relish hearing one. He was dignified without being aus- 
tere. He was interested in everything that was being 
done in camp. He talked with and asked questions of 
the working-men as they mined in the ditches or were 
otherwise employed. He was free with them, but not 
familiar. hTo man stood in awe of him, yet no man would 
have taken a liberty with him. They had- no good appa- 
ratus for extinguishing a fire ; but if there was a blaze, the 
bishop was among the first on the ground, and was always 
in the thickest and hottest place, working himself, and 
encouraging and directing others, and he would go home 
afterward with his hands blistered and his eyes full of 
cinders. I have told you this just to show you how prac- 
tical he was. He was always to be found where there was 
any real good to be done. It is unnecessary to state that 
he was the most popular man in camp. 

“One day a lady called upon my wife. She was the wife 
of the Congressman from Montana. Her husband was a 
Catholic, she a Protestant, a member of the bishop's 
church. She was very beautiful, very cultured, very 
charming; but very much exercised about church tenets. 
She liked to discuss the pros and cons of things, and was 
fond of religious arguments. She tried to draw the 
bishop into these controversies, but failed. He always 
managed to keep clear of them. At last she gave up in 


Seeds by the Wayside. 565 

despair. The day she was calling, I sat in the. room ad- 
joining our little parlor. My wife had been lauding the 
bishop and saying how much she admired him, in which 
expressions of admiration she was seconded by her caller 
in the following language, as near as I can now remem- 
ber it; 

^Yes, the bishop is a charming man, and I feel quite 
sure he is a good man; but I donT understand him. He 
doesn’t seem to care a fig whether Henry the Eighth or St. 
Peter established the Episcopal Church.’ 

^But,’ said my wife, ^you like his sermons, don’t you ?’ 

" ^Oh, yes ! as far as they go ; but he never preaches over 
twenty or twenty-five minutes, and they usually apply to 
the things that are around one all the time. He never 
preaches doctrinal sermons. To sum up the whole thing, 
I think he is a grand man, but his creed might read this 
way, believe in keeping one’s house clean, tending to 
one’s family, being kind to one’s neighbor and minding 
one’s own business.” With all due respect to the bishop,’ 
laughed the lady, rising, to take heir departure, T believe 
that is all the religion he has.’ 

‘‘1 was very young then, and had been raised in a strict, 
orthodox, doctrinal manner; and it had never occurred to 
me that the attributes which the lady had mentioned be- 
longed to religion. I got to thinking about it, and I be- 
gan to think it a pretty good creed ; and from that day to 
this I have had no other. It has been enough for me. I 
had always had peculiar ideas about heaven and a future 
state. The following Sunday after this call I have just 
mentioned, I was passing the court-house at the Sunday- 
school hour, and thought I would go in. For some reason 
the attendance was not very large on this particular Sun- 
day. Several teachers were absent and the organist had 
failed to materialize. The bishop was in a dilemma. He 


566 Mary Starkweather. 

came up to me smiling, and asked me if I could start 
the tune for the children to sing. It was the old familiar 
hymn: 


want to he an angel. 

And with the angels stand; 

A crown upon my forehead, 

A harp within my hand* 

he pointed it out to me he said: have selected 

this because I thought the children were familiar with it, 
not because I believe that when we get to heaven we will 
be angels or play on harps. I think we will be men and 
women, love and be loved, and have our pursuits and ob- 
jects of interest and our loved ones around us there as 
here. There may be angels there; I don’t know, but I 
don’t think we become angels.’ 

^Tn the twinkling of an eye heaven was changed to me. 
It became in thought, a place of light and warmth, of 
peace and rest, and I have never had any other thought 
about it since than that, if there is a heaven, we would 
meet our loved ones there and live somewhat as we live 
here. Very soon after the events of which I have spoken 
I left Montana and I have never seen the bishop since. 
But those two little events changed the entire course of 
my life and way of thinking religiously. So, I can under- 
stand how deeply you have been impressed by the many 
simple things you have mentioned. 

^Tt is practical, simple religion we want. Good deeds 
are always accompanied by good thoughts, and good 
thoughts are prayers. So I claim that good deeds, ac- 
companied by good thoughts, are decidedly more efficient 
than long winded prayers. I am particularly impressed 
by what I have seen to-day and from all I can learn of 


Seeds by the Wayside. 567 

Mrs. Thornton. And Braintree, Gordon and Barry de- 
serve to be canonized for building this town. I learn, 
also, that Braintree expects to extend his work, by es- 
tablishing a fund for this purpose. In doing so, he is 
carrying out my idea exactly. It is one thing I have 
never been able to understand; why a millionaire should 
wait until after he is dead to do good works, leaving large 
sums of money for charitable purposes to be largely con- 
sumed by the people that handle it.” 

Further down the car was another group, earnestly 
talking. Some one congratulated Bennie on his coming 
marriage, and asked him how his father took the prospect 
of his being married. 

^^Oh, he is all right,” exclaimed Bennie. "I think I’m 
blessed. My father is perfectly devoted to Annie. He 
can’t retire for the night until he has gone to see her. 
It is the first thing that has ever seemed to take him 
away from his business. Sometimes, I get half jealous 
of him, and Annie flirts desperately with him. He has 
had our house turned inside out, and is refurnishing it in 
great shape. And he has consented to go with us on our 
wedding tour.” 

Benjamin Gordon, Senior, was much like Benjamin 
Gordon, Junior, excepting as /he aged he had grown stout. 
He was a well preserved man of fifty; rich, comfortable 
and apparently happy; As the reader passes on to the 
next group he hears Bennie still chatting about Annie. 
Here they are discussing Mary, and the young ladies that 
have been her companions, and their society and philan- 
thropic proclivities, and what they have accomplished 
through the winter. 

One man was saying of Mrs. Thornton: ^^Aside from 
her religious and philanthropic work, she has benefitted 
society marvelously. A year ago society gasped at the 


568 Mary Starkweather. 

st^nd she had taken, but all that hysterical opposition has 
passed away. She gave, during the winter, beside her 
grand ball, a number of smaller dances, and they were 
conspicuous for their freshness and wholesomeness. The 
secluded nooks> the sensuous, languorous music, that 
makes you feel as if you wanted to hold somebody’s 
hand-—” 

‘‘^Generally the hand of some other man’s wife,” jocu- 
larly interrupted a man that was listening. 

'^‘Yes,” continued the speaker, ‘"‘^the kind of music on 
which you drift recklessly down on the wings of time, 
until you are brought to your senses by a rude shock. All 
this has been conspicuously absent, not only from her 
entertainments, but from those of many others in her 
set. The young girls and women that have been closely 
associated with her the past winter, have taken their cue 
from her, and will have only the loftiest and most inspir- 
ing music. So I claim that if Mrs. Thornton had never 
done anything else than this, she would have deserved a 
crown.” 

The train was nearing the station at New York. The 
men rose, yawned, stretched themselves, adjusted their 
hats and gathered up canes and umbrellas, preparatory to 
leaving the car. They were all men of the world, yet 
it is plain from the conversation just heard that these men, 
though worldly, held beyond the value of rubies, womanly 
purity and truth. 


The Anniversary. 


569 


CHAPTEE XLIII. 

THE ANNIVERSARY. 

Another June, with its lights and shadows has come. 
It is the first anniversary of the first service in the temple 
at Bethesda. 

Mary is seated in the Bethesda drawing-room reading a 
letter. Charles enters the room, and Mary exclaims en- 
thusiastically : 

^^Dear Charles, do come and hear the good news ! 
This letter is from Harry. He will be with us to-day; 
in fact, we can look for him any moment.” 

Charles came to the back of the sofa, and as he glanced 
over her s.houlder at the letter which she held in her hand, 
he asked: 

^^Has he found Mrs. Tremaine?” 

'^No, he says he has only waited to keep his promise to 
be with us to-day; and will return to Europe to continue 
his search for her.” 

^^Just one year ago to-day since she vanished from sight, 
seemingly as effectually as if she had been removed from 
the earth forever,” said Charles, thoughtfully. It is very 
strange.” 

cannot help but feel she is alive and will return,” 
replied Mary in a hopeful tone of voice. "Not a day 


570 Mary Starkweather. 

isince she left, but I have sent my thoughts out after her. 
They will find her and bring her back.” 

Charles, who had been leaning on the back of the sofa, 
toying with Mary’s hair, now slipped his arms about her 
waist, and drawing her to him kissed her affectionately, as 
he said warmly: 

^^My own precious wife, your faith is so great that 
nothing seems denied you. Yes, I, too, believe she will be 
found. But how about our other guests ? Have you 
heard from all of them?” 

^^Yes, and Harry’s letter completes the list. All our 
intimate friends that were at our first meeting, one year 
ago, promised to be here to-day, if alive and well. I have 
heard from all of them, even from good Dr. Malridge. 
We will sing a Jubilate Deo to-day, Charles dear.” 

At this moment a servant entered and announced: — 

^^A lady to see Mrs. Thornton.” 

^‘^A lady,” said Charles; ^‘^then excuse me, I will go and 
look after the preparations for our guests.” 

He made his exit, and in a moment the servant re- 
turned, and much to the astonishment of Mary, ushered 
in Mrs. Tremaine. 

They stood for an instant gazing at each other, Mrs. 
Tremaine with an appealing expression in her face. Then 
Mary exclaimed: 

“Mrs. Tremaine, can it be possible?” And going to 
her, put both arms around her, kissing her, first on one 
cheek, then on the other, then taking both her hands and 
holding her off at arms’ length, gazed joyfully at her, for 
a moment, as she cried: 

“I can hardly believe my eyes ! Believe me, I am over- 
joyed to see you.” 

There was no mistaking the rapture in Mary’s voice and 
manner. It was loyal and cordial. Mrs. Tremaine had 


571 


The Anniversary. 

not spoken a word except to murmur Mary’s name. Her 
eyes were swimming with tears at this warm reception. 
Mary put her arms around her, and led her to a couch, 
saying : 

^^Come and sit here;” and she seated herself beside 
her, and asked : ‘^here is little Euth ?” 

“I left her on the lawn with Gertrude. My dear Mrs. 
Thornton, how ungrateful you must have thought me to 
have run away from you in such an unceremonious man- 
ner as I did a year ago.” 

^^Your short note said that there was a most unex- 
pected reason for your sudden departure, which you 
would explain some time,” replied Mary. 

^^And of course, you now look for the explanation,” said 
Mrs. Tremaine, thoughtfully, a look of pain sweeping into 
her face. 

^^Not unless you see fit to give it,” said Mary earnestly. 
“I am so content to see you, to have you here again, that 
I ask nothing more than just what you desire to tell.” 

Mrs. Tremaine arose, walked across the room, and stood, 
as if irresolute, looking out of the window for a moment. 
Then she returned, and seating herself by Mary and tak- 
ing her hands in hers, said : 

^Tt is right I should tell you all, even though it does 
hurt and humiliate me.” Then gazing into Mary’s face 
she said : ^^Mrs. Thornton, don’t you know me ?” 

Mary looked questioningly and thoughtfully at her, 
then shaking her head, she said : 

‘^Ho, I confess I do not. When I first met you, your 
voice seemed familiar, and at times, your face seemed to 
remind me of some one whom I had known; but 

^^Am I so changed then?” exclaimed Mrs. Tremaine, 
interrupting her. ‘^Do you not remember the poor, un- 


572 


Mary Starkweather. 

fortunate woman whpm you befriended years ago, and who 
married your friend Mr. Drummond?” 

Mary^s eyes had grown wide with astonishment, and 
half rising she exclaimed: 

“Mrs. Multon, is it possible?” Then as Mary sank 
back on the couch, Mrs. Tremaine replied: 

“Yes, it is. possible. I am the same unfortunate woman 
whom you so loyally befriended nine long years ago. 
Listen ! When I first met you, I told you all there was to 
tell about my past life, except my father’s name, which 
was Tremaine, Senator Tremaine of Kew Hampshire. 
A year after my marriage to Mr. Drummond, my father 
died, leaving me sole heir to his large fortune. Having 
no near relatives, I then took my little daughter, and ac- 
companied by an elderly woman, who acted in the capacity 
of governess and companion, I commenced a systematic 
course of travel. I was perfectly content to live for my 
child. Two years ago, we left Paris for London. You 
know the rest. The railway accident and the prospect of 
my child being a life-long cripple almost crazed me. I 
went from city to city, abroad; to consult famed phsyi- 
cians. The result you already know. Finally a longing 
came upon me to come back to my native country. 
Shortly after landing in New York, I heard of Dr. Cline, 
the celebrated German specialist, and came here to Willow 
Springs, where, thank Heaven, my darling was cured ; not 
by Dr. Cline, but through you — my more than friend.” 

As Mrs. Tremaine uttered the last words, she lifted 
Mary’s, hand and kissed it. Mary pressed Mrs. Tremaine’s 
hand reassuringly, as she said : 

“But you have not told me all. There is something else 
I know.” 

Mrs. Tremaine looked rather embarrassed as she said: 


The Anniversary. 573 

‘‘Oh, Mrs. Thornton, how can I admit my folly!” She 
hesitated. 

“Tell me only what you wish me to know, dear,” said 
Mary encouragingly. 

“Well, when I came here to the Springs, among the first 
persons' with whom I became acquainted, was Mr. Bur- 
bank. He was very kind to me and to my little daughter, 
who grew very fond of him. I was very lonely and his 
companionship was very sweet.” Again she hesitated. 

“It was very natural; go on, dear, I think I under- 
stand,” said Mary, reassuringly patting her hand, for a 
great light was breaking in upon her mind. 

“Oh, do not think me weak or foolish,” she said anx- 
iously, “when I tell you that his constant devotion to me 
and my child grew so upon me that before I was aware of 
it, I had learned to love him. However, I did not fully 
realize it until ” 

Again there came the reassuring pressure of Mary’s 
hand and Mrs. Tremaine continued : 

“Until after Dr. Cline had pronounced Ruth incurable. 
Then, Mr. Burbank came to me, in my sorrow, and told 
me of his love and asked me to become his wife. Oh, 
there was one delicious moment of joy, and then the aw- 
ful realization of what I was, came upon me. I realized 
I had a husband living, that I had no right to listen to his 
vows of love. Although in my heart of hearts there was a 
joy, the joy of his love, I kept saying to myself, ‘He loves 
me ! he loves me !’ I acknowledge it, now in spite of all 
the shame and bitter humiliation which followed.” 

Mrs. Tremaine rose and walked hastily away from Mary 
across the room. There was a nervous intensity in her 
manner, as if she wanted to get away from herself, and 
as if the thought of what she had endured had all rushed 
back upon her with an overwheming and humiliating force. 


574 Mary Starkweather. 

more than she could possibly bear. She tugged blindly 
and ineffectually at the fastenings of her wrap as if they 
were choking her. 

Kising, Mary stepped quickly to her side, and putting 
the nervous hands to one side, loosened the wrap, and 
as she laid it to one side, said soothingly and calmly: 

^^Come, dear, let me understand this matter. You say 
shame and humiliation. How so? Are you not mis- 
taken ?” 

^^Oh, no, Mrs. Thornton, it was too terribly true. I have 
lived through the thought of it a thousand times since,” 
said Mrs. Tremaine, making an effort to control herself. 

year ago, you remember, I called here to see you. I 
was almost happy. My little Euth was cured. I was 
loved, and all the world seemed brighter for it. Then, if 
you remember, you left me for a moment, while you went 
to give some directions to the servants. I returned to this 
room for my parasol, which I had forgotten. Your hus- 
band and Mr. Burbank were in earnest conversation. I 
entered the room just in time to hear Mr. Burbank say 
he was a married man, with a wife and child living. I 
heard your husband admit the fact. I hardly remember 
what occurred afterward; nor does it matter. I left hur- 
riedly. Everything seemed a blank to me.” 

‘Aly dear friend, why did you not come to me?” said 
Mary. 

could not. I could think of but one thing, to get 
away, to leave here forever. I did go, and when I reached 
New York, I found a vessel ready to sail for England, and 
since that, I have travelled from city to city trying to for- 
get. But no matter where I went your face has been con- 
stantly before me, your voice seemed always calling me 
back. I returned to New York, not intending to come 
here. Yesterday, your presence seemed so real to me, that 


575 


The Anniversary. 

it seemed I could put out my hand and touch you. At 
last, I could endure the strain no longer. I felt I must 
see you, so I took the train and came at once. I did not 
even wait to go to the hotel, but came here directly from 
the station.” 

“My dear friend, how you must have suffered!” said 
Mary. “I am glad you have come to me.” 

“But, my dear Mrs. Thornton, I have not told you all 
my troubles. They are of such an unlovely nature that I 
hesitate about inflicting them on you. Yet I do need your 
counsel.” 

“I am prepared to hear everything you may wish to tell 
I me, and to assist you in any way in my power. Let me hear 
! what it is,” said Mary encouragingly. 

Then Mrs. Tremaine told Mary all about her persecution 
by Sidney Banks, beginning with the day she first saw him 
in the cottage of Mrs. Dennis, at Clinton, until the pres- 
ent time. How he had followed her abroad, and from 
place to place ; how he had written to her, and forced him- 
self upon her until it had become beyond endurance. 
How, after returning to America, he had kept a watch 
over her; that she could not step out of the house without 
being followed. Then, she not only told Mary about, but 
showed her the threatening letters of Sidney, and declared 
that while she had kept a brave front, she, in secret feared 
him. 

Bad as Mary believed Sidney to be, it seemed to her 
almost impossible that he could be so low as to try to in- 
timidate and persecute a woman in this manner. She 
could hardly believe the evidence of her senses as she read 
the cowardly attacks of this man. But in reading these 
letters Mary discovered one thing; that Sidney really 
loved Mrs. Tremaine as much as it was in his power to love 


576 Mary Starkweather. 

any one, and she saw that he was jealous of Harry. 
While the whole thing was lamentable, still Mary had to 
smile as she recalled to herself of whom it was that Sidney 
was jealous. So she said to Mrs. Tremaine: 

^^This is all very unfortunate, and we must talk further 
about Mr. Burbank and Sidney Banks. We will consult 
my father and husband about them’; but now I want to 
talk to you about your husband.^’ 

Instantly, Mrs. Tremaine emphatically exclaimed: “I 
never want to see him, never — never-never !” 

^‘But, my dear, I .am sure he is a very good man,” pro- 
tested Mary. 

good man!” echoed Mrs. Tremaine incredulously. 
^‘Would a true, good man sell himself for gold in order to 
live a life of luxury? Never, no, never I A.s for myself, 
I married him to save the life of my child and would do it 
again. No, I never want to see him again.” 

^‘But, if you would see him, perhaps he would set you 
free,” said Mary. 

‘^What matters now whether I am bound or free?” said 
Mrs. Tremaine with a disconsolate note in her voice. 

‘^But, Mr. Burbank; do you not love him still?” said 
Mary, trying to detect what hope there was for Harry. 

^^Love him still 1” and her voice had in it an echo of 
both scorn and sadness. ‘‘Love a man that offered dishon- 
orable love to me ! Oh, I blush when I think how easily 
I was deceived.” 

“I know Mr. Burbank, well,” replied Mary, watching 
every expression of Mrs. Tremaine’s face. “I do not 
’think you were deceived ; I think there was some mistake.” 
I am sure he loved you, that he loves you now.” 

It is doubtful if Mrs. Tremaine was aware of the joy 
that illumined her face as she drank in every syllable that 


The Anniversary. 577 

Mary uttered. Mary saw it, and was satisfied, and she 
continued : 

‘‘But, as you say, it was dishonorable in him, a married 
man, to offer his love to you. However, we will not talk 
of that ; but were I you I would be free from Mr. Drum- 
mond. You are still young and beautiful.^^ 

“I shall never love again,” said Mrs. Tremaine sadly, 
“though I blush to say it, I really loved. It was the love 
of a mature woman. I shall never love another.” 

“At any rate,” said Mary, “you would better come to 
an understanding with Mr. Drummond. I can help you 
in this if you will be guided by me.” 

“My dear friend, do with me as you will,” replied Mrs. 
Tremaine. “For days I have been in a nervous tremor; 
but already I feel happier than I have felt for a year.” 

“I shall demand implicit obedience,” smiled Mary. 

“You are my superior officer,” laughed Mrs. Tremaine. 
“You have but to issue your commands.” 

“First, you are not to go to the hotel; but are to re- 
main with me. You will give me the checks for your 
luggage, and I will have it sent to you. How,” said 
Mary, ringing for a servant, “you must go to your room, 
and make yourself a prisoner, and remain until I come for 
you. Don’t worry about Euth. I will have her looked 
after.” And giving the servant, who now appeared, some 
instructions, Mary parted from Mrs. Tremaine, who fol- 
lowed the maid to her room. 

When Mary found herself alone, she laughed softly as 
she thought: “Was there ever such a happy ending to an 
unfortunate affair as this promises to be? How, to find 
Harry and bring these two together. What a surprise is 
in store for each of them. Harry should be here very 
soon.” And glancing at her watch, she was about to go 


578 Mary Starkweather. 

in search of Charles to tell him the news, when she heard 
Harry’s voice inquiring for her. She went forward to 
meet him, saying brightly : 

was just about to start out to find you. Come and 
give an account of yourself.” 

‘^You know from my letter all there is to tell,” said 
Harry disconsolately, as they returned to the drawing- 
room. 'H have but one thought. I live for but one thing, 
and that is to find her, and bring her back.” 

Harry said her. He spoke as if there was but one her 
in all the world; and as if that was sufficient distinction 
to distinguish Mrs. Tremaine from all other women. Mary 
noticed it, and it was with an amused smile that she asked : 

‘^Suppose you found Mrs. Tremaine? What have you 
to offer her?” 

^^My love, my undying devotion.” 

‘^But you are a married man,” protested Mary; ‘^you 
cannot offer honorable love to any woman.” 

will get a divorce,” exclaimed Harry, desperately ; 
will move heaven and earth to obtain it. I will give half 
my fortune, yes, all to be free.” 

^^The woman you married is not seeking your money. I 
have seen her. She, too, is in love and wants a divorce. 
I think I can manage this matter for you.” 

^^Ah, Mrs. Thornton,” exclaimed Harry eagerly, joy- 
ously, "this is good news indeed. Where — when — ^how — 
can this be accomplished?” 

"It can be arranged to-day if you will consent to see 
her,” replied Mary. 

Harry’s face lost some of its joyous expression as he 
said: 

"I wish there were some other way. I would rather not 
come face to face with this woman.” 

"I do not think there can be any help for it. Possibly, 


The Anniversary. 579 

it will be necessary for each of you to sign some papers 
in the presence of witnesses, and in the presence of each 
other. You need not speak to her nor she to you, unless 
you wish to.” 

^^That will just suit me, and when it is done I will start 
with renewed vigor in my search for her. Oh !” exclaimed 
Harry fervjptly, ^hf I can only find her !” 

^^Daily I nave sent powerful thought messages to her, 
and have believed they would reach her and bring her 
back.” 

^^My dear Mrs. Thornton,” replied Harry, believe 
much in the sciences you teach, but I must draw the line 
here. I confess I have no faith in thought doing what 
you say, and would rather trust to steam and my own 
energy.” 

^^Our necessities are often our best opportunities,” said 
Mary impressively. did not know in what direction to 
look for our friend, and felt that if thought could travel 
intelligently on a metal wire, couched in signs to repre- 
sent ideas, why should not the ideas interchange them- 
selves between two minds in distant localities, without ver- 
bal expression? So, daily, I have sent a message to her, 
having faith it would reach her.” 

‘^Then you think I could bring her back by sitting here 
and wishing for her?” smiled Harry incredulously. 

^^Not exactly by wishing, but by learning scientifically, 
how to send your thought out to her, you could make a 
more intelligent search than by racing over the world in 
an aimless way.” 

cannot understand how it could possibly be done,” 
replied Harry. 

^^Certainly not,” said Mary. admit it is, at first 
sight, bewildering. As well ask a child to do a mathe- 


580 Mary Starkweather. 

matical problem who has never learned the multiplication 
table. You must first learn the science of this truth.” 

^^And you still send your thoughts out, and think they 
will reach her?” queried Harry. 

think they have reached Mrs. Tremaine, and will 
bring her to you.” 

‘T wish I had your faith.” 

life of ease is not always the life to bring out 
genius or a man’s latent powers,” said Mary, earnestly. 
^^So it is with adverse circumstances, they prove and de- 
velop more than the individual thought or dreamed of. 
You are being tried, you may yet come to have my faith.” 

hope so,” said Harry sincerely. ^‘^Until then I must 
search in my own way.” 

^^As you please,” said Mary, “but my way will find 
her first I am sure. Now if you wish me to arrange this 
matter of your separation from your wife, you must place 
yourself implicitly in my hands, for the next two or three 
hours, and do exactly as I command.” 

“It’s risky,” laughed Harry, “but as the reward prom- 
ised is so great, I think I shall venture to place myself at 
your nrercy. What is your first command ?” 

“Charles has a den opening off the library. You will 
find there, to amuse you and keep you out of mischief, all 
the latest papers and magazines. Go there and remain 
until I send for you.” 

Harry had been in this den and knew just where to 
find it, and telling Mary that he should consider himself 
a prisoner of war, made his exit. 

Mary, feeling overjoyed at the prospect of what the 
denouement between Harry and Mrs. Tremaine was likely 
to be, went at once to find Charles to put him in pos- 
session of all the facts, and secure his help. She was only 
able to tell him the relation between Harry and Mrs, Tre- 


The Anniversary. 581 

maine, when they were interrupted by the arrival of their 
guests, and she had to postpone telling Charles of the per- 
secution of Mrs. Tremaine by Sidney Banks, thinking, 
though, that it did not matter; that she could tell him 
this afterwards. 


Mary Starkweather. 


582 


CHAPTEK LXIV. 

AGAIN IS SIDNEY BANKS FOILED- 

Dr. Malridge and Colonel Eversoll were the first to 
arrive, and had been ushered into the drawing-room with- 
out ceremony. 

‘^Ah, the colonel was saying, ^^the very atmosphere of 
this room does me good.’^ 

^^So you’re feeling all right again ?” asked the doctor. 

^^Humph ! well I should say I am ! I never felt better, 
I assure you ; I haven’t had an ache or a pain for months.” 

^^And you really think you were cured through this 
science of the mind?” asked the doctor, with a sniff of 
incredulity. 

‘^1 don’t know. The doctors claim it was the result 
of a mental shock. Mrs. Thornton has never said any- 
thing about it. I know but one thing about my case, and 
that is, that I was suddenly conscious that I was without 
pain, and could walk. For a few days my foot felt stiff 
and sore and weak; but that gradually passed away, and 
I have been perfectly well ever since.” 

‘T cannot conceive of a man of your powerful intellect, 
having any patience with this theory,” said the doctor. 

'^My powerful intellect,” echoed the colonel, with a 


Again is Sidney Banks Foiled. 583 

funny chuckle of enjoyment. ^^Ahem! If I remember 
rightly, some of your profession have been questioning 
whether I ever had any intellect. However, as that is a 
difficult point to prove, we will not discuss it. What I 
want to say is this: the allopathic doctors used to speak 
contemptuously of homeopathic doctors, calling them char- 
latans, humbugs, fanatics, yet, cures from these diluted 
remedies are numerous and well established. The meta- 
physicians are here, and are pointing to results, and it’s 
the results we want.” 

^^And you think your case a clear demonstration of these 
results?” 

“Not mine alone, but many that were with us one year 
ago; and others that I now know of,” replied the colonel. 

“Well, I confess to some curiosity in this matter,” said 
the doctor, with a mixture of expressions in his face, “and 
I have come here according to promise, as I wanted to wit- 
ness with my own eyes, how well these people are.” 

“Your curiosity will, I think, be gratified,” replied the 
colonel, with an amused grin as he watched the various ex- 
pressions that had flitted over Dr. Malridge’s face. “I met 
Mr. Grey a few days ago ; he has fully recovered and is in 
active business. In fact, every patient that was here one 
year ago, has been either entirely cured or greatly bene- 
fitted. Not one has died.” 

“What has become of that old Jew?” 

“Solmon? Oh, from being a libel on a noble race, he 
has become an ornament, an example,” replied the colonel 
warmly. . 

“When I saw him last, he was a sight to make tlie very 
gods weep for pity,” declared the doctor. 

“Well, he is a sight now, to make the same gods weep for 
joy. He was enormously rich. He has built and en- 
dowed a home for aged Jews. He has also built a sani- 


584 


Mary Starkweather. 


torium for the sick, where they are cured without money 
and without price. He is devoting himself and his money 
to doing good.” 

^^You are enthusiastic, Colonel,” said Dr. Mai ridge. 

“How can I help it ? seeing such results,” exclaimed the 
colonel. “Now let’s be honest, let’s be fair. You teach 
resignation to surrounding evils, and a hope of reward 
after death. The Metaphysicians teach that now is the 
time to remedy evils, and have a heaven on earth, and not 
postpone it until after death. Now, which is the more 
sensible teaching?” 

Dr. Malridge made no reply to the question; but re- 
marked ironically: 

“Well, I suppose you have now become a full-fledged 
spiritualist, thesophist, or some other kind of an ist/* 

“Athe-ts^ you called me the last time we were together. 
No, my old habits are still so strong within me that I am 
sorry to say I have not got into this line of thought as I 
would wish.” 

The colonel smiled a little maliciously at the expression 
that came into the face of Dr. Malridge, who echoed his 
words : 

“As you would wish?” 

“As I would wish,” replied the colonel: “that’s just 
what I said, and just what I mean. I can’t solve this 
theory, this nejv line of thought. If those that practice it 
can, they can do more than I. But if there is anything in 
it, it ought to be given to the world. I don’t know. How- 
ever, there is one thing about it, and that is, that this 
world is all we are sure of, and when I see a religion that 
makes people happier here, well, if I ever find that I am 
obliged to have religion, that will be the religion for me.” 

Dr. Malridge made a gesture of impatience as he ex- 
claimed: “Call this craze anything you like, Colonel, but 


Again is Sidney Banks Foiled. 585 

for heaven’s sake ! don’t call it religion ; it’s an insult to 
our blessed Trinity.” 

At this moment many guests came pouring into the 
room, and Mary and Charles, who as yet, had not seen the 
doctor and the colonel, came to them, greeting them cor- 
dially, when the colonel said: 

‘^Dr. Malridge and I have been making ourselves at 
home, while waiting for you, and, as usual, have been hav- 
ing a little tilt. I am glad you have come, Mrs. Thorn- 
ton. I want you to define religion ; not theology, but reli- 
gion. What is it?” 

^‘Eeligion,” replied Mary, ^^according to my belief, is 
psychic science ; a knowledge of the soul. It is life. Com- 
bine religion, philosophy and science, and you have the 
whole. It is a trinity which comprises all there is, and 
can be combined in one word. Truth/' 

^^You see, she has a Trinity of her own,” laughed the 
colonel, as he gave the doctor a sly, undignified poke in the 
ribs. 

‘^^But,’^ exclaimed Mary, ‘T am not going to allow you 
to draw me into your controversy.” 

"My dear Mrs. Thornton,” said Dr. Malridge, with his 
gentle, gracious smile, for he was very fond of Mary, "your 
ancestors must have been a grand set, for you to have in- 
herited so amiable a disposition. The colonel and I are 
different. We always get into a war of words. Our an- 
cestors must have been soldiers or pugilists.” 

At this moment Gertrude ran to her mother, exclaim- 
ing, "Oh, Mamma, Mr. Solmon is coming. I just saw 
him from the window. Oh, I am so glad,” and she 
bounded out of the room to meet him. 

"Is that our old Jew?” asked Dr. Malridge. 

"The same; he met me at the station, yesterday, and 


586 Mary Starkweather. 

brought me these flowers,” said Mary, turning to a table 
on which was a vase, filled with rarest roses. 

^^Does he cultivate them?” asked the doctor. 

^^Oh, yes, he is very fond of them, and of all kinds of 
pets. He will not allow a bird to be shot on the place. 
In fact, he has a regular menagerie, which, of course 
draws all the children in the neighborhood to feed and 
play with them.” 

Just as Mary ceased speaking, Solmon entered with 
his arms full of flowers, with Gertrude hanging to his 
coat, talking as fast as her tongue could fly. 

‘^‘^Here I am, Mrs. Thornton,” giving Mary the flowers. 
^‘My ! Efery pody here ?” said Solmon, looking around 
in surprise at seeing so many people. One could hardly 
have realized that this was the man that had been 
so closely connected with Sidney Banks in his efforts to 
rob General Starkweather of his home. Then, he was 
sordid, worldly and grasping. He was bent, mentally and 
physically. He was continually looking down, grovelling 
for the temporal things of life. How, he was looking 
upward, and he was lifted up physically as well as men- 
tally. He seemed to be several inches taller, and much 
younger, than when he first came into this story. He was 
now looking after the spiritual and it had transformed 
him. Ho one appreciated this change more than Dr. 
Malridge, and, as Solmon turned toward him, he could 
but contrast this smiling, well dressed man, to the one he 
remembered that other day in June at Mabelthorp, nine 
long years ago. Solmon, now coming up to Dr. Mal- 
ridge, said, as he presented to him a choice rose, that he 
held in his hand: 

know you love flowers.” 

^^So I do,” replied the doctor, ^T)ut I never supposed you 
cared for them.” 


Again is Sidney Banks Foiled. 587 

I never ust to know dey was so pntifnl. I never 
ust to know dot pirds and rabbits have sense. I tink 
dey vas yust good to eat. I tink only beoples have sense. 
Now, I know dot everyting dot lives have sense. De 
pntifnl flowers, dey nod and nod der hets, and seem to 
say ^Good morning, Solmon.’ ” 

^‘How did yon learn this, Solmon?” asked the doctor. 

‘^De little anchel child teach me dis — ve go ond to ride 
and valk nnd she say, ‘See, Mr. Solmon, de flowers say 
“Good morning,” nnd de pirds nnd de wind are singing a 
song for ns,’ and she vonld say little glad vords to dem. I 
tink it was only a child, bnt I say to myself, I vish I vas 
so happy like dot child. Und von day I vas ont all py 
myself, nnd I see a peantifnl pird in a tree, nnd I say 
‘Come to me, peantifnl pird;’ nnd ven I say dot a great 
pig Inmp come right here,” said Solmon, placing his hand 
on his throat. “It most choke me, bnt I love dot pird 
so mnch as never vas, nnd I say ‘come to me, I love yon. 
I vonld not hnrt yon.’ Und vot yon tinks? Dot pird 
fly right on mine shonlder, nnd he say ‘twee-twee,’ nnd he 
dnrn his head dis vay, nnd dot vay, nnd look at me nnd 
peck at me, to show me he vos not afraid, nnd den he fly 
away. Veil, ever since, I have a great feelings here,” 
placing his hand on his heart, “vot I never hat pefore, 
nnd I VOS so happy I feel like I vants to dance nnd sing, 
nnd my eyes felt pig nnd strong nnd everyting looked 
peantifnl, like it never looked before. Und I tink I peen 
asleep all my life, nnd I feel like I vant to pring de whole 
vorld together, nnd lay my hands on its head, nnd say, 
‘Pe happy, I love yon.’ Ah, some of dose beoples of de 
vorld, pees Jews, some Christians, nnd some pagans; bnt 
it vas ynst vot Mrs. Thornton say : ve can all be brodders 
nnd lofe von annndder. Yon pelieve dot, too, do yon 
not, Dr. Malridge?” 


588 Mary Starkweather. 

Before Dr. Malridge could reply, Gertrude came run- 
ning up to Solmon. She had a small green paroquet in 
her hands, which Mr. Solmon had given her some time 
before. 

^^See V’ she exclaimed, ‘^how he has grown, and I call 
him Gsaac’ after you.” And in a moment, Solmon had 
forgotten Dr. Malridge, and was devoting all his atten- 
tion to Gertrude. 

Dr. Malridge, brought face to face with this man, in 
whom there had been wrought this marvelous change, had 
listened to him with surprise, and now watched him with 
curiosity. The doctor knew that children were intuitive, 
and felt that the element for good in Solmon must be 
very great when there could be such fellowship as there 
seemed to be between himself and Gertrude. And he 
asked himself: 

^“^Shall I condemn the source through which this change 
has been wrought?” It was the first thing that had 
touched Dr. Malridge in connection with Mary’s work. 
And turning to Mary he took her hand and pressing it 
warmly, said fervently and impressively: 

“You are doing a noble work. God bless you, God 
prosper you, my dear friend.” 

It was almost the dinner hour. The guests had nearly 
all arrived. Edith, Pansy and Annie were stopping with 
the Thorntons. The “Trinity” had arrived and all were 
in high good humor. Charles had taken Colonel Eversoll 
to one side, and explained to him about Harry and Mrs. 
Tremaine. The colonel was in a rollicking mood over 
the expected denouement. Charles had sent for Harry, 
and seeing him enter the reception-room, they went for- 
ward to meet him, Mary saying, as Charles passed her : 

“I will go and fetch Mrs. Tremaine,” and made her 
exit. 


Again is Sidney Banks Foiled. 589 

old boy ! where did you drop from ?’’ was the 
colonehs greeting to Harry. 

‘^Straight from heaven of course,” responded Harry. 

^‘Oh, indeed. You look so solemn I thought perhaps 
it was the other place,” laughed the colonel pointing 
downward. “I haven^t seen you since the night we climbed 
into the gallery to hear one of Charles’s campaign 
speeches.” 

‘^Ah! Ahem! But you were amply repaid, of course?” 
laughed Charles. 

“Repaid !” exclaimed the colonel, savagely. “Can a man 
be repaid for being compelled to take a Turkish bath in 
public? The incense of 300 burners ” 

“And as many drinks,” chimed in Harry. 

“Rose to the ceiling,” continued the colonel,- “and made 
the air as thick and as hot as the south corner of 

“Oh, hold on. Colonel, hold on!” exclaimed Charles, 
“comparisons are odious.” 

“All right, I won’t say it. I’ll just think it.” Then 
turning to Harry, he said breezily: 

“Have you found Mrs. Tremaine?” 

“No, I have not.” 

“I have found out something about her,” said the 
colonel mysteriously. 

“What is it?” asked Harry eagerly. 

“She is a married woman,” said the colonel. 

“She has a husband living,” added Charles. 

Harry looked at first one, then the other, and said, “I 
don’t believe it.” 

“It’s true,” asserted the colonel. “I know her husband 
personally. He is a regular scamp.” 

“Yes,” chimed in Charles. “Married her for money and 
then deserted her.” 


590 Mary Starkweather. 

^^The coward, the puppy. I^d like to throttle him/^ 
glowered Harry. 

^^Wonld you? Well, you shall do it. I know him 
well,” said the colonel. “I’ll tell you all about him.” 

At this moment Sidney Banks entered the door at 
Bethesda. Charles saw him from where he was stand- 
ing. He was not an invited guest, and Charles went for- 
ward to meet him. 

“You were not expecting me,” said Sidney, “and I fear 
I am intruding, but I was unaware ” 

“Don’t apologize,” said Charles cordially; “although 
not expecting you, there’s always room for one more.’^ 

“I have only a few hours at the Springs, and I called 
to see you about a little political matter of importance,” 
said Sidney. 

“Politics, is it? Will it not wait until after dinner 
in which you can join us, and we can have politics after- 
ward? Our dinner is not a formal or state affair, just 
a reunion. Ho ceremony is needed, so, make yourself 
happy and we’ll discuss the politics afterward.” 

As this seemed to suit Sidney, Charles ushered him into 
the drawing-room. While Mary has gone to bring Mrs. 
Tremaine, we must ask the reader to go back with us for 
a few moments, to look after Sidney Banks. 

After the stormy interview with Mrs. Tremaine the 
year previous, Sidney went at once to Clinton, and, with- 
out much difficulty, learned who the man was that de- 
posited the money in the bank for Mrs. Tremaine. 
Strange as it may seem to the reader, he was overjoyed 
at the discovery, for there were reasons why the exposure 
of this man would be a double revenge to him, beside giv- 
ing him a double hold on Mrs. Tremaine, as he thought 
she would desire to shield him. When he reached Willow 
Springs the next morning, and found that she had left 


591 


Again is Sidney Banks Foiled. 

the day previous, and that Harry Burbank had followed 
on the next train, he was wild with jealousy. He rushed 
to New York, and through the assistance of a shrewd de- 
tective, soon traced Mrs. .Tremaine to the steamer on 
which she had sailed. 

He supposed Harry had gone with her. He cabled a 
description of both of them to the detective bureau in 
London, requesting that they should keep informed of 
their location from the time they should land in London. 
Then, he consulted the marine news, and found, that by 
going at once to Montreal, he could reach London a day 
or two earlier than by waiting in New York. This he 
determined to do. And while waiting for his train, he re- 
viewed the situation. At first, the pursuit of Mrs. Tre- 
maine had been with him a case of the unattainable, a 
case of sheer perversity. Now, this had changed into an 
all-consuming desire for her, which to this man of fierce 
passions and impulses, who had never known restraint, 
and had never allowed anything to stand between him and 
his wishes, was almost beyond endurance. With the ex- 
ception of his affairs with the Starkweathers, little that 
Sidney had ever undertaken had failed him, and yet, in 
the light of those failures, he felt, in his reflections, as 
if he had always known defeat. All the success of his 
business and miserable intrigues paled into insignificance, 
in his mind beside these failures. He resolved to pursue 
Mrs. Tremaine to the end of the earth, and to have her or 
ruin her. 

In his wrath, he did not forget his political intrigues, 
and wrote letters to the political enemies of Charles, urg- 
ing them to leave no stone unturned to defeat him. He 
backed this up by a liberal donation to the campaign fund. 
The result of these efforts has already been seen. 

From the moment Mrs. Tremaine landed in London 


592 Mary Starkweather. 

until the moment the reader finds her safe in Mary’s 
home, she had been under espionage and subject to per- 
secution from Sidney Banks. 

At last, Mrs. Tremaine had returned to America, de- 
termined, if these persecutions did not cease, to apply to 
the authorities for protection. Twice did Sidney run 
across Harry in London; but he could not discover that 
he ever visited Mrs. Tremaine. This, and the fact that 
Mrs. Tremaine received calls from, and had the entree 
to a circle that Sidney could not reach, puzzled him 
sorely, and increased her value to him, and in spite of the 
scorn and contempt with which she treated him, his in- 
fatuation deepened daily. He now loved her blindly, 
madly, and was willing to condone her youthful follies, 
and make her his honorable (?) wife. But, when in 
spite of this, she spurned him and threatened to appeal 
to the laws of her country for protection, he became wild 
for revenge. When he found she had gone to Willow 
Springs, he started to follow her, and found on the same 
train, bound for the same place, Dick, Donald, Bennie, 
Harry, Colonel Eversoll, Dr. Malridge and many others, 
and happened to hear dropped the fact they were all to 
dine at Judge Thornton’s, his jealousy knew no bounds. 

Mrs. Tremaine, followed by one of Sidney’s men, had 
come down on an earlier train, and when Sidney arrived, 
this man met him and told him that Mrs. Tremaine had 
gone direct to Mrs. Thornton’s, and her luggage had also 
been sent there. Instantly, Sidney had a spasm of virtue, 
and felt indignant that Mrs. Thornton should be imposed 
upon by a woman of this character. 

“The presuming fool,” he thought. “She shall pay for 
this insolence.” 

That she should dare to ingratiate herself into the 
good graces of a woman like Mary, and not only dare to 


Again is Sidney Banks Foiled. 593 

visit her on terms of equality, but to meet under her roof 
the man who was furnishing her the money to live on, 
was worse than gross presumption. It was sinful, li. 
was trying to persuade himself into the belief that he 
hated her, and that his revenge was justifiable. He knew 
Mary and Charles well enough, that to go to them and tell 
them the truth would not hurt Mrs. Tremaine. And he 
did not intend to give them a chance to shield her. But 
it must be confessed, when he entered Bethesda with these 
malignant intentions burning in his breast, his resolution 
wavered, for a moment, but it was only for a moment, and 
it began to burn more fiercely as he took in all that was 
going on around him. 

The gathering, as Charles had said, was not a formal 
affair. And when he entered the room, the people were 
all grouped about, laughing, jesting and enjoying them- 
selves generally. 

General Starkweather, who, for some reason, had been 
detained, entered the drawing-r6om about the same time 
as Sidney. He greeted Sidney pleasantly, but Sidney 
could but mark the difference in his reception and the 
greeting he gave to Harry, whose hand he took in both 
his own and gazed at him as fondly as if he had been a 
son, and said: 

'^My dear boy, it seems ages since you were with us. I 
am so glad to see you.” 

Then turning to his old friends. Colonel Eversoll and 
Dr. Malridge, he took a hand of each, and the face that 
was lighted by wonderful blue-grey, lambent eyes, which 
could gleam at the sight of his dear old friends, became 
truly radiant, as he said: 

^‘Welcome, more than welcome, my old comrades!” 
This recalled to Sidney that other June day when these 
three men stood together while Harry stood near, and 


594 


Mary Starkweather. 


looked on, and it only strengthened his resolve to hum- 
ble one of them, at least. 

Mary did not know of Sidney’s arrival. It had been 
intended by Charles and Mary to have Harry and Mrs. 
Tremaine meet simply as “Mrs. Tremaine” and “Mr. Bur- 
bank.” And after they had become reconciled. Colonel 
Eversoll was to tell them of their true relation. There 
was to be no public denouement of their marital relations. 
Mary had been saying to Mrs. Tremaine, as they came 
from her room: 

“You made a mistake in not letting Mr. Burbank ex- 
plain. The marriage was one of convenience on both 
sides, one of money. They never lived together. The 
woman he married was a widow with a child. It was 
not his.” 

“How like my own unfortunate marriage. Poor man, 
I am sorry for him,” sighed Mrs. Tremaine. 

It so happened, as they entered the drawing-room, Sid- 
ney was near the door. He was at the white heat of an- 
ger, as he stood watching the Triumvirate who were 
standing directly in the center of the room. Mary was 
surprised at seeing him; but Mrs. Tremaine, in spite of 
herself, trembled and turned pale at the sight of him, and 
sank into a chair near the door. Mary felt disconcerted 
for a moment, and was about to call Charles to the rescue, 
when Sidney, pale as death, but with a triumphant gleam 
in his eyes at seeing Mrs Tremaine so overcome, ad- 
vanced and exclaimed, loud enough for all to hear: 

“My dear Mrs. Thornton, you must pardon me for this 
intrusion ; but you have with you to-day two peopk that I 
think if you knew who they were, would not be with 
you.” 

Every one became still, and was gazing at him. Mary 


Again is Sidney Banks Foiled. 595 

had stepped directly in front of Mrs. Tremaine to screen 
her from view. 

^^That woman, Mrs. Thornton, is the woman whom yon 
befriended years ago. She fled from yon to the protec- 
tion of a married man — a man who poses the world over 
as a domestic man, and a model hnsband and father. 
That man has, for more than nine years, lived a lie, de- 
positing money monthly, in the bank at Clinton for her 
snpport. That man is Colonel Eversoll, and I dare, I 
defy him to deny it.” 

Consternation was written on many faces as this charge 
was hurled straight at the modern Goliath, who, at the 
moment, was standing erect in the center of the room, 
with his head held high. 

dare him to deny it,” again reiterated Sidney. 
donT deny it,” exclaimed the colonel. have de- 
posited money in the bank for her support, as agent for 
her husband, Harry Drummond, now Harry Burbank.” 

Mrs. Tremaine was on her feet instantly. 

^^Harry Burbank !” she exclaimed. As she arose Harry 
saw her for the flrst time, and exclaimed: 

^^Mrs. Tremaine !” and seemed too astonished to move. 

Charles pushed him gently toward Mrs. Tremaine, as 
Mary said to her : 

'^Courage, dear. You have found your lover and hus- 
band, who loves you devotedly.” 

As Harry clasped her hand, the colonel held his hand 
in mock solemnity over their heads, exclaiming: 

^^Bless you, my children, bless you.” 

Charles drew back the door to the little temple, and 
drew Harry and Mrs. Tremaine within, where he left 
them to straighten out the warp and woof of their nine 
years of married life. 

This scene transpired in a much quicker time than it 


59^ Mary Starkweather. 

can possibly be written. It had caused a wonderful com- 
motion, and no one seemed to understand the situation. 
Sidney Banks was dumfounded at the turn the affair 
had taken. He saw, at once, there was something under 
all this that he did not understand, and when the atten- 
tion of those present was taken up with Harry and Mrs. 
Tremaine, he made his escape. So, when Charles turned 
to look for him, he had disappeared. It was a good thing 
that he had taken ^Trench leave,’’ as both the general and 
Charles were greatly incensed at the proceedings of Sid- 
ney. Finding him gone, Charles turned to the colonel 
and said: 

‘^My dear Colonel, I regret this occurrence, but 

“Good heavens, Thornton, do you think I care? Why 
during my career, I have been so bombarded and lam- 
pooned that I don’t mind a little thing like that. I have 
been called robber, assassinator, impostor and everything 
else, until I thought I could have no new experiences. I 
am fond of new sensations,” said the colonel merrily, 
“and this is a new one; for it is the first time my virtue 
has been assailed.” 

This brought a great laugh from every one and then 
commenced an explanation of the scene which they had 
just witnessed. 

The guests had just begun to grasp the meaning of it 
all when the servant ushered in Mrs. Preston. Mary 
went forward to meet her, and Mrs. Preston explained 
excitedly : 

“Mrs. Thornton, you must excuse this intrusion, but I 
thought I must come and tell you that Dr. Cline received 
your invitation to dine with you, and he is coming; but 
he is in a towering rage.” 

“Towering rage?” echoed Charles, and Colonel Ever- 


Again is Sidney Banks Foiled. 597 

soil, who had come up to where Mrs. Preston was stand- 
ing to speak to her. 

‘^Oh, yes, he is furious. I don’t like to tell you what 
it is about; but — ^but he says you are an impostor, that 
he is going to expose you before all these people. He says 
Mrs. Thornton shall not- impose upon innocent people. 
Oh, he is in an awful temper !” 

‘‘Is the man insane?” exclaimed Colonel Eversoll. 

‘^Mary, my dear, you must not see him,” said Charles. 

‘^hat nonsense,” exclaimed Mary laughing. Dr. 
Cline is a gentleman. I am not afraid of anything he 
will say.” 

^‘^But, my dear,” said Charles. 

And, at this instant, the servant ushered in Dr. Cline. 

^^Clad to see you. Dr. Cline,” said Charles, going to 
the doctor. 

^^Thank you,” replied the doctor, looking very sternly 
and gravely at Charles. And his expression did not re- 
lax as his eyes wandered, for an instant, about the room 
to those collected there, most of whom knew him. 
^^Thank you. Judge Thornton, but I have a very unpleas- 
ant duty to perform.” 

Colonel Eversoll could not understand this great breach 
of etiquette on the part of Dr. Cline, who, at all times, 
was such a courteous, polished gentleman; and he said in 
a conciliatory tone: 

“I hope not, doctor; you know — ^you see — oh, come. Dr. 
Cline, you 

Dr. Cline waived him to one side as he said: 

^^That’s all right. Colonel Eversoll, but I never shrink 
from wkat I consider a solemn duty. I wish at this mo- 
ment, to speak particularly of Madam Thornton, and of 
what she is doing.” The guests were all listening eagerly, 
with varied expressions on their faces. 


598 Mary Starkweather. 

‘^She came here to the Springs, and she said nothing, 
apparently done nothing, but soon some people claimed to 
be cured of disease through her, and they say she gives 
no medicine. It is a mistake. She gives the most power- 
ful medicine. Allopathic doses at that. It is a medi- 
cine so powerful, so penetrating, so invigorating, that it 
is almost enough to raise the dead.” 

you know what it is, and it is so powerful as you 
claim, why do you not use it?” satirically and cynically 
queried the colonel. 

^^Because I cannot obtain it in sufficient quantities,” re- 
plied Dr. Cline, with a dissatisfied frown on his face. 

‘^Will you not tell us what it is?” asked Charles, good- 
naturedly. 

^^Yes, I can and I will. I want that you should all know 
how you have been imposed upon.” He now fairly glow- 
ered on the faces that now leaned forward to catch his 
words. “It is concentrated — sunshine — and hope — Ha ! 
ha ! ha ! ha ! ha !” roared the doctor as he grasped Mary’s 
hand and exclaimed: 

“Ah, Madam Thornton, when I knew of this gathering, 
I could not refrain from joining you and your friends, 
and to make an effort to steal from you if possible, the 
manner in which you compound the medicine you dis- 
pense so freely.” 

“My dear, dear doctor,” said Mary, cordially, “I am so 
glad you came; I almost feared you would not.” 

“Then you are not angry at my. attack on your method 
of therapeutics?” 

“As little Carl says, Tm not mad for keeps,’” said 
Mary gaily. 

The denouement of the doctor’s display of anger had 
caused a great deal of merriment to those who now gath- 


Again is Sidney Banks Foiled. 599 

ered around him, and congratulated him on his histrionic 
powers, the colonel exclaiming: 

^‘^Dr. Cline, why can you not join your forces with those 
of Mrs. Thornton in a combined attack upon sickness and 
death?” 

^^Ah, Colonel,” replied the doctor, “I must stick to my 
old methods; but I will admit this much: that if I could 
combine Madam Thornton’s methods with mine, I would 
add to mine a powerful factor in the cure of disease. But 
she will not agree with me.” 

^^Yes, I will agree to disagree with you in your 
methods,” interrupted Mary ; ^^but we will still be 
friends; for I know you have at heart, all that is good 
for humanity.” 

Dinner being announced, Harry and Mrs. Tremaine re- 
entered the drawing-room. The colonel grasped Harry’s 
hand exclaiming: 

^^Well, old fellow, are congratulations in order?” 

^^They are, indeed,” exclaimed the radiantly happy 
Harry. Again I have you to thank.” 

^^Not me,” said the colonel, ^^but Mrs. Thornton,” turn- 
ing to Mary. 

"Hot me,” she exclaimed, "but that all ruling Provi- 
dence of which it has been said that all things should work 
together for good.” 


6oo 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTEK XLV. 

SUICIDE. 

■ Sidney Banks had felt that no matter what the offense 
of Mrs. Tremaine might be, both Mary and Charles would 
help her to get away with as little publicity as possible, 
but he had thought, ‘Tf they are religious cranks them- 
selves, there are plenty among their friends that are 
not like them in that respect, and it is to them I shall 
look for approval for my conduct.” He was so sure he 
could disgrace Mrs. Tremaine, and put her to flight, that 
one can imagine what his real surprise was at the turn the 
affair had taken. Instantly he saw that the colonel had 
spoken the truth. Then what was under all this? and 
dreading scorn, contempt and ridicule, he escaped from 
the house. He went back to New York. He knew 
every one he met was bowing to his millions, and not him- 
self. 

Constantly before him was the picture of the drawing- 
room at Bethesda; the benign face of Dr. Malridge, 
the heroic head and face of Colonel Eversoll, the hand- 
some countenance of General Starkweather, with Harry 
and Charles so happy, and Mary as Queen, 

They were all there with their friends. He had known 
them all his life. Years had passed and while their 


Suicide. 


6oi 


opinions were as opposite as the poles, still they were 
friends loyal and true. He knew that in the midst of 
affliction all differences were dropped and they stood 
together like brothers. 

He thought of the guests that were assembled there. 
Even Solmon had been welcomed. He alone was an alien. 
He had no friend in the wide world that would stand by 
him through poverty and sickness. The woman he loved 
had spurned him; he could not understand the relation 
between herself and Harry. He was benumbed by it all. 
He wandered about like a man in a dream. 

The next morning’s papers contained a complete ac- 
count of the romance and final reunion, of Harry Bur- 
bank, the millionaire, and Berenice Allicia Tremaine, 
daughter of the late United States Senator Tremaine of 
Hew Hampshire. 

Banks read it all; he felt that there was not another 
woman in the world for him. He felt he had been 
wronged, outraged. He convinced himself he had been 
deceived. But revenge had eaten itself out. He felt 
desolate and alone. He drank deep. In the stillness of 
night a shot rang out. The next morning in his sumptu- 
ously furnished apartments, he was found dead. 


6o2 


Mary Starkweather. 


CHAPTBE XLVI. 

WEDDING BELLS. 

Ip what we read in novels is true, then these several 
couples of our story should not have been happily mar- 
ried. According to the orthodox belief, some should have 
been wretched in order to be natural. But, if their sur- 
roundings had been good, why should they be unhappy? 
We were intended to be happy, and as a simple demonstra- 
tion of truth nothing could be stronger than that each 
Romeo had found his Juliet. 

The bridal morn dawned fair. They were not what 
one would call gorgeous weddings. There was no glare 
nor blare of trumpets nor scenic display. But they were 
all that the most fastidious taste could desire, and in 
this subdued elegance were truly princely. 

Pansy and Donald came first with their . attendants, 
then followed Annie and Bennie, Edith and Dick last. 
Never had Edith’s step been more queenly. ^^My Ameri- 
can king,” exclaimed Edith, as Dick kissed her. 

There was one great surprise in store for these happy 
people. Just as the bridal party was to leave the Brandt 
home for the railway station, they were invited into the 
library, where Mr. Gordon and Mrs. Barry were stand- 
ing before the officiating clergyman, who soon made them 


Wedding Bells. 603 

husband and wife. As quick as a flash the true reasons for 
Mr. Gordon’s visits to Annie were explained; but there 
was no happier bride on the train than Mrs. Gordon, 
Senior, with her gray hair, blue eyes, and pink cheeks. 
Harry and Mrs. Tremaine were of the bridal party at the 
invitation of Colonel Brandt, as also were Charles and 
Mary. Norwood Brinsley sent a floral piece for the bridal 
car. It was a reproduction of the bridal train with love 
triumphant as conductor, and faith as engineer. 

Never was bridal train that left New York so freighted 
with happiness. All mourning had been turned into glad- 
ness. There were no pessimistic hob-goblins, no sloughs 
of despond. There had been no one sold for dollars. 
Pluto and Crcesus for once, were vanquished by Cupid. 






















